Possessions
by Hot Monkey Brain
Summary: Damien returns to South Park, hunting an escapee from Hell. Aided by the mortally challenged and the mercenary, he's also being distracted by a certain English boy. Slash, Dip. Complete!
1. From Hell

**Author Note: **Uh, hello! This is a new chapter fic that I've been working on for a while. I really hope you enjoy it! Like many authors, I'm always sorta nervous that people are gonna read through and scream, _wow, this sucks monkey balls_, so if you do like it then press the review button and calm my nerves a little! Or, should there be horrific errors, OOC moments and an utterly confused plot, you can let me know that too and I'll correct it.

Yeah, the prologue's short. Other chapters will be longer!

**Warnings: **There are a lot of these folks. This story is Dip, it's deeply dippy (I've always wanted to use that phrase! Hurrah!). That means boylove. In fact, that means sexual relations betwixt man and Antichrist. And since the story is rated M, although it's not gonna be uber-graphic, it's probably gonna involve a little more than holding hands and kissing and skipping through fields. Also, there are references to things of a sexual nature that may make some readers uncomfortable. Damn, it sounds like it's gonna be hardcore piss-on-yer-head porn, but really it isn't.

Other warnings... contains references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. There's likely to be a LOT of blood and death. There are a lot of criminal acts perpetrated by a number of people. Bad language, obviously. Vague biblical references made by someone not really smart enough to understand them. And explosions and car chases, because I'm starting to believe I'm physically incapable of writing a story without them.

And the final warning; although the story is mostly angst, the style occasionally veers wildly away from that. There's some humour in there and random moments of fluff, not to mention odd philosophical discussions and far too many characters wandering about without their shirts. Many of my stories contain attractive young men without their shirts... heh heh.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park or its characters. I _do_ now own the DVD of season 10, which came out just this week. Hurrah!

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For millennia, Hell had been changeless. There had been the assaults on all the senses of the damned; the screams of anguish and agony that never faded, never eased for even a second of longed for peace; the taste of hunger and ashes and unrelenting thirst; the smell of burning meat that both nauseated and stirred the appetite; the sight of the pits spanning into the distance, the horizon ablaze with the promise that nothing else existed no matter how far in any direction one travelled.

And the sensations that were the worst of it all, the heat, the suffering, the agony, until the denizens of Hell wished only for oblivion, to be released from their misery and granted the peace of being unfeeling, unthinking. But it was a wish that they were never given, and the violation of their every sense didn't cease for even a moment.

There were those who had been there since the beginning, the ones who had been expelled from Heaven and for them, the suffering was hand in hand with their rage. Had their armies won the war, then the realm above would have been theirs and they would have been spared the constant torment. And there were still levels to the indignities, the battles among those cast out waged for hundreds of years until Hell had been brought under the control of one of the Fallen. Those whom had served him were rulers in Hell. Those who served his opposite numbers were the truly damned. They had known Heaven, they had chosen their sides and it was their own choices that had led them to where they were.

Those who had been mortal cowered and screamed, lamenting their foolishness, bemoaning their sins. Their woe was too large for anything else. They grieved.

Those who had Fallen writhed and threatened, cursing their tormentors from the lowliest demon to God himself. Their pain fuelled their hatred further. They raged.

And for millennia, there was no change, no difference, no cessation.

Those who had Fallen knew that things had not always been as they were. The mortals tried to forget it, some shred of them trying to repress the memory of happiness in order to cling to the tattered remnants of their sanity, such as it was after the truth had stripped them of all they thought they knew and the pain had torn away hope. They grieved for a life that was more like a dream. But the Fallen had no such luxury, having a perfect recall of their loss. The knowledge that their eternity was to remain unchanged was made worse after having once had so much more; monotony has a horror all its own.

But for the first time since the wars in Hell had cast them into their roles, change had begun to creep upon them.

The mortals had known always of the levels of sin and damnation, but had strived to find ways to twist that knowledge into justification and forgiveness, like the endlessly imaginative insects they were. The afterlife had no care for reasons; there was the void and there was the sentence and no one was listening to the millions of voices screaming of how their placement was unfair. As the proverb said, intention was without meaning, only results counted.

Except slowly and subtly, the boundaries began to shift, until one day, those who had Fallen came to realise that instead of God acting upon the mortals, He had found himself being changed through their actions. God, who had always been as Changeless as Hell itself. Once the Change had begun it seemed irrevocable, much to the displeasure of those who had Fallen; the Change had advantaged the mortals but not affected their own fate in the slightest and surely if their own suffering were not to be allieveated, then why should the lesser beings be so blessed?

The relaxation of the frivolously-named Mormon Law told them all they needed to know, had they not already realised it. God had spoken and his favour had gone to the mortals. His proclamations to the Angels, Fallen or not, remained the same.

Those who had Fallen raged at the injustice they saw in this and chafed to be free, but they were bound to Hell and few ever escaped from its depths.

Although some had.

Hell was not merely changed by the forces of those who remained above. Their own wars had seen the strongest army in charge and it was not until the laws in Heaven changed that they realised their own forces may have been further influenced by the mortals than had been previously thought. There were fewer souls in Hell then and their sides had been chosen in their lives; their sins binding them to the army they found upon descending. But the natures of mortal existence had been changing while the machinery of Hell continued and although the sins remained the same, the opportunity to wallow in them had shifted in balance.

In a world where food was scarce and often meant many years of toil, gluttony was harder to practice, but far more calculated when the starving were in the streets where the sinner walked. Pride was more widespread in a local community than when exposed to a global one and sloth was more appealing when it did not lead to starvation. The mortal world changed and added more or less of its number to the pits reserved for each sin, dependant often on opportunity, but the wars in Hell had already been fought and the armies could not reform.

But the winner of the wars in Hell had proven even more susceptible to change than his opposite number.

For as long as there had been mortals with free will, there had been anger and there had been bitterness and the desire for revenge. And because so many sins had led back to another as a consequence, Wrath had always been greater in numbers, and in will. It had been that way for so long that it wasn't until the Change that those who had Fallen began to wonder if the ways they had tempted humans to err was a two-way issue, that the mortals could also force their collective will to change Hell.

Hell had been enslaved by the forces of Wrath under their leader, Satan. But the ways in which wrath was used by mortals was different now. The days in which wrath was evidenced in anger, in conquest, in blood and persecution and hatred, were not entirely over, but had diminished alarmingly. It seemed now that humans saved all their wrath for those closest to them, family and lovers. They showed it by ritual humiliation or the stripping of possessions, rather than the quicker and cleaner methods of violence. And although wrath had always been a sin, it had been more easily disguised as regaining honour; in these new times it was thought that such acts injured oneself more than the other party and led to long drawn out, bloodless battles, with the chance for redemption and not the swift execution and the immediate loss of grace.

Satan had – changed.

His own forces seemed bemused initially, later facilitating their leader in all that he started to do. He began to watch his temper, grow irritable instead of murderous. And the worst part; taking pity on the mortals – treating them as _better _than those who had Fallen. Taking pity on them, relieving the worst of their suffering. Taking human lovers, showering them with preferential treatment. Deciding this was not enough, the arrival of a son who could pass for mortal himself, creating dark thoughts as to whom might have borne the child. Allowing the mortal customs, imbibing himself with mortal emotions, the overseer of Hell had become far distant from the despot who had enslaved all rivals.

Those who had Fallen remained enslaved, without the freedoms given to the souls of the damned. And their rage grew, that they could have been bettered by the creature who would become _this_. It was humiliation, it was unbearable, intolerable.

And there was no choice but to bear it.

For most of them.

It was one of the lowliest demons who eventually discovered that something else had changed, something that previously, only Satan's armies and the cursed mortals had been aware of. It had been prophesied of course, but the demon was so used to the unchanging nature of its torment that it could barely comprehend the information that his time was now.

There was a mortal who could walk between the worlds.

A boy, a _mortal _boy, who was able to travel through Heaven and Hell and return to his own place. Blessed, or cursed, to belong to all worlds and yet to none of them. One whom Satan had deliberately concealed from those who had Fallen, knowing what the discovery of his existence could mean to the power structure within Hell.

The demon decided it too could keep quiet.

It schemed, too lowly within the ranks of the damned to attract much attention to itself. It hoarded its new information like a secret treasure, a key that would mean the chance to perhaps escape from Hell. The mortal world was not where it would choose, had it the choice, but it was a place without the agony of eternal torment and a place where none of those still in Hell could drag him from.

And it was a place where he could find targets for his rage, gain retribution for his anger. Not in the quick, decisive way of Wrath, but in his own predilection for slow, insidious corruption.

All it needed was one chance.

The boy left a path, it discovered, when he returned to his place among the mortals. A path that could be followed, although none of the denizens of Hell had been able. Satan's soldiers were bound to keep the damned within the realm and it was a duty they took seriously.

But time passed. Presumably, the boy grew, although the demon had not seen _him_, merely the path he left as he returned. None were able to follow and the soldiers grew careless, imagining that the boys existence remained a secret to all save Satan's most loyal followers.

The demon watched, waited, biding its time.

Then one glorious occasion, the boy left Hell while the soldiers were distracted, leaving the trail unnoticed and unguarded.

It jumped.

**~:~**

It was often debated if Hell was constructed on the whims of the mortals it housed, if their own images of horror were what gave the realm its shape. Certainly most of the souls that ended there seemed to have been expecting a fiery pit and agonised screams of eternal torment. But it was reputed that there were other areas of Hell, ones it had not seen, where the landscape was frozen, the ground snow-covered and the sky dark and endless, unbroken silence. A part of Hell that was not active, but bleak.

The demon wondered if the path had led it there when it arrived.

There had been the fire, the heat, the cacophony of screams, the burning light of pyres. Then there had been a sudden impression of velocity, the screams torn away by the rushing of wind and then – this place.

It was dark, it realised when it looked up. And cold. After millions of years spent in the depths of Hell, it had forgotten of the bite and the sudden change in temperature left it disoriented. Snow lay on the ground in a thick blanket, seemingly the only colour other than the black of the night.

But this wasn't Hell.

It began to notice the subtleties when it truly examined its surroundings. The sky was dark, but the lightening colour of a healing bruise, indicating that night was over and the sun would soon rise. Tall constructs gave off beams of gentle artificial light, making the snow sparkle and showing the impurities in its coverage, the tracks from wheels and feet, the places where grass or trees struggled through. Colour seemed to bleed back into its spectrum, the tree bark brown, plants in varying shades of greenery or decay. And the distant sounds of life were not urgent and pleading, but mundane. _Everything_ was mundane.

Such imperfection was not found in either realm beyond the mortal one.

Such imperfection was true beauty.

It took stock of itself and began to feel doubt, the urge for caution. In Hell, there was no room for such things and although it hated the emotions, it also took pleasure in them. There was no immediacy. Everything was familiar and yet new.

But it knew that its escape would not go unnoticed for long and it should begin its plans.

It was discorporeal, it realised much to its vexation. It had once had form, but that form had been stolen from it when it had been condemned to eternity in Hell. It would need some vessel for its soul if it were to survive and hide its escape. Once the vessel was found, it could be discarded at will in favour of another, but finding that first host demanded certain – attributes.

But the sun was fully risen and soon the citizens of this place, where ever it was, would be about their business. It would find its host and be granted a new chance of life.

It had no name, or if it had ever had one, the knowledge had been stolen from it with its freedom and its form. But this was of small consequence. It would christen itself after one of the more powerful Fallen, the one it had served during the wars in Hell all those years ago; Asmodeus, symbolic of wanting.

It wanted life, power, revenge. And it would have them all.


	2. It's Dark and It's Cold

**Author Note: **My thanks to the people who put this on their alerts! And my biggest thanks are with Chels, because that review put the biggest smile on my face (I'm really hoping the story will kick arse, I guess we'll find out! MAJOR thanks!). I hope you like this chapter, when we're getting into the actual characters. Oh yeah, the little quotes at the start tend to be from songs or books. Just what I was thinking when I wrote them. I've discovered some really cool songs from things like this, so I thought I'd add to the karma. Oh, and usually updates won't be so fast, but I wanted to get the chapters involving the characters out there.

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_It's dark, and it's cold, you're alone – but you're free. Isn't that what you wanted?_

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Most of the people Asmodeus saw were adults, driving in their cars to work, a few other cars crammed with teenagers. It left them alone. Possession could cause several seconds in which neither soul had full control of the body and if it crashed and died in that moment, there was no way for it to easily find a new host before being dragged along with the mortals soul. There were children, either walking with parents or alone, heading to school. They were of no use to it either, the parent seeming harried and worn, the children far too young to be capable of what it required and less able to blend in. What it needed was someone in their late teens or early twenties, strong, fit, the perfect host for it to flee the place it had arrived in and be able to have some fun. Gender, appearance, background, all irrelevant, although as far as personality was concerned, it preferred passivity for his initial host. It could subdue anyone who tried to fight him, but it would be so much easier if there were no resistance.

A teenage boy slouched into view, hood raised against the cold so that only his eyes were visible, over sized jeans trailing in the snow. It considered him briefly, then noted the boy raising a hand in greeting. A moment later, he walked up beside a car pulling out of a driveway, the boy driving dark-haired and well built, possibly some kind of athlete. Of the two of them, it would have preferred the driver, but had already decided to play it safe and let the pair escape it.

A girl opened the front door of the drivers house and shouted something at the leaving car. It took interest, this seemed like a good proposition – but then she slammed the door closed and it let her escape too. The house was no barrier to it, but it didn't think her display of temper showed much passivity.

Waiting, it saw another child pass and let her go – maybe eleven, far too young – and then its interest was caught by another figure, heading in the direction the car had vanished in.

A boy, it decided after a moment, five-ten perhaps. Blonde hair spilled past his shoulders, tied back neatly but loosely, several stray tendrils already escaping the bond. His skin was clear, face androgynous, nose aquiline. He walked with his head up and back straight in marked contrast to the slumped gait of previous boys, but there was something, a slight stoop to the shoulders, that suggested the posture was held by willpower rather than a genuine carefree attitude. Cheap but smart jeans showed from beneath a jacket designed for someone several inches shorter, who lived somewhere several degrees warmer. One hand hung on to the bag on his shoulder, the sleeve of the jacket riding up to display a fading bruise on the wrist that resembled smudged fingerprints.

He was young, seemed healthy enough, alone and on foot. He fit the criteria it had been looking for.

It flew unseen toward the boy, finally giving voice to its command.

_LOOK AT ME!_

The boy turned, startled, not _hearing_ exactly but receiving the message on some subliminal level – and obeying it unquestioningly.

As it went for him, it saw the boys eyes were open wide, sky blue, expressive and questioning and somehow lost.

And then it was within his subconscious and seeing _through_ those eyes, giving names to its surroundings with the boys knowledge, using his memories as keys of power and control.

**~:~:~:~**

_Philip, his name is Philip, but everyone calls him Pip, he used to hate it but he's got used to it and he's stopped noticing how much he dislikes the nickname, he's from England and his peers mock him for how he sounds, he's always tried to fit in but every attempt makes him stand out, he has no family, no friends, no one cares about him..._

_A natural born victim. How convenient._

_The boys voice is bewildered. "What... what was _that_?"_

"_You have a demon, child," it says dismissively. "So nothing you do while I'm here is on your conscience. Doesn't that make you feel better?"_

"_I – I don't understand..."_

"_There is nothing to understand. You are my host now. You'll be released, once I deem it in my best interests."_

_It's amusing to watch the boy fight its control, it reflects as it senses the struggle for movement and the rising panic at finding his body is no longer at his disposal, that he is merely a passenger in his own flesh. The attempts are futile, but give it some brief amusement. _

"_This – this can't be happening!"_

"_It is happening child, it _is_. Accept it, and things will be easier for you."_

"_Who _are _you?"_

"_You may call me Asmodeus."_

"_Well Asmodeus, I'd prefer not to be possessed. If you could be so good as to release me?" The boy is striving for a reasonable tone, but the tremor is obvious._

_It laughs. "Why?"_

"_Um, because it's my body and I'd like it back before my maths test?"_

"_Child." Its voice is grieved. "You would relinquish what I can give you for dry learning?"_

"_I really don't think you have anything I want."  
_

"_Freedom, child. True freedom."_

"_I don't understand..."_

"_It's simple really. You've spent your life under a burden, pressure to be _nice_, to be _good_, to accept rejection with a smile and return scorn with good humour. To laugh along with the joke, even when the joke is _you_, when your pain is their pleasure. And where has your lack of resistance got you?"_

"_..."_

"_You are, as you have always been, an outcast. From the moment you were uprooted from your home to this country, taken from everything you knew, everything that was familiar. Even the language was a false comfort, a landscape that should have been known but was filled with traps. And the people who brought you here, should have taken care of you and guided you, instead abandoned you to whatever fate awaited you."_

"_They couldn't help it! They – they died!"_

"_Oh yes, the accident that would never have happened if they hadn't come to this country. They gambled and lost and it was _you_ who was left to pay for it. Sent to an orphanage in a redneck county in Colorado. You should have been just another faceless, anonymous boy, but they couldn't even let you have that, could they? They wanted to make your Englishness a selling point, like a second-hand car that's just a bit different, in a showroom full of other models. So they dressed you like a sheep and sent you out among the wolves –"_

"_You're mistaken! That's not how it was!"_

"_Isn't it? Don't you remember how you objected, how the directors of the orphanage turned those sad smiles on you and claimed they just wanted what was best? Not that it actually helped. They should have known that people in this country want some All-American kid, one that thinks that football involves neither foot nor ball and doesn't have strange clothes and a foreign accent. Whenever a prospective parent came along, they always passed you over, didn't they?"  
_

"_I – it was just that..."_

"_You weren't what they were looking for. You weren't what they wanted. Always passed over in favour of some other boy, one of the ones who pushed you around or stole your clothes while you slept. And even when you wished them well and tried to tell yourself you were happy for them, wasn't there something else? Jealousy? Resentment?"_

"_No!"_

"_Oh child. Of course there was. _They _were being chosen, not you. _They_ were wanted. You were not."_

_It suppresses a chuckle as it senses Pip's struggle for a rebuttal to this comment. All of his memories were open to it, every event and every emotion tied with them. All those things were easy to bring to surface of the mind, pushing deeper to confront him with things he hadn't even wanted to admit to himself. It could sense his despair, the way his resistance was fading when presented with a truth that had been twisted to suit its purpose, but no less real. _

"_And that was just at the orphanage, child. At school though, you weren't overlooked as often as you wished you could be. You were ignored often, true, but when it came time to play – well, the other children played with you, didn't they? Not that you _liked_ the games. Spitting games. Punching games. Target practice. And then they ignored you again, until they felt the need to scream some insult."_

"_I had friends."_

"_You had _one_ fr..."_

_It trails off, suddenly surprised. Pip's memories recall a child, one who had spent time briefly at the school and been around Pip because they were as unpopular as each other. Pip had been willing to let the other boy push him around, mostly pleased that finally, he had someone to talk to, sit with. Pip's memories are slightly hazy with time, but it knows exactly how to bring the past to sharp and painful clarity and for the first time since possessing the boy, it begins to feel afraid._

_Damien. The Antichrist. A child still in the boys mind, not as he had been in Hell before it had escaped, but the same person. _

_Why would this boy know of the Antichrist? Is there any way it can be traced by Hells minions?_

_It examines the memory and relaxes. The two had been briefly acquainted during one of Satan's visits to the mortal world, but once Damien had been taken back to Hell, Pip had never heard from him, hardly even thought of him. It's a coincidence and a nasty surprise, but it is nothing to prevent him from using this host._

_Hoping the boy has not noticed the hesitation, it continues. "You had _one_ friend in elementary school, a circle of people around you who either bullied you or only remembered you when it suited some plan of theirs. You asked for help, do you recall? It got so bad that you broke silence for the first time ever and asked a teacher to do something. He advised you to be overly nice so that the other children would accept you. That was what you'd been doing all along of course, you tried to explain it but he didn't seem to listen and nothing changed. Or rather, they changed for the worse."_

_It can feel Pip trying to argue, but relentlessly continues. "Those were the good years, the easy years. You started getting noticed later on much more, didn't you? You became everyone's stress relief. Had a bad day, a fight with your girlfriend or your parents, failed a test? Go beat up Pip Pirrup. He bleeds better than hitting a punchbag or a pillow. And people only notice to laugh, or else they turn their heads and look away. And it's not long until you're eighteen. Now, all you have is the roof over your head provided by the state and a basic education. In a few months, you won't even have that. You'll be turned out, told to leave. All you've known of life is misery and ridicule and maybe, just maybe, that's all there is for you, no matter _where_ you go."_

_There is silence. It takes malicious pleasure in a job well done, manipulating the boys fears and shame and hang-ups into an unpleasant tapestry. There is only one more thing to do._

"_Child..." It's voice is a caress, the aural equivalent of a gentle touch. There is still silence, the boy lost in his sorrow, but maybe, maybe yearning for the promise in that voice._

"_All those people who rejected you, abused you. Your parents, your carers, the would-be families, teachers, friends. But now, I have chosen _you_ – and I can give you what you want. We can show all those people the error of their ways, teach them to respect you. You can throw off their authority, obeying the rules that make you the victim, always the victim. Finally, you can be the person you always should have been."_

_The boys voice is small, but sure. "Asmodeus... I don't think I want that."  
_

_It is surprised. It did not expect to be denied, having shown the boy the tragedy of his existence and the chance of escaping it. And it is angry too; it had hoped for passivity but surely there was some spark of rebellion in the boys soul? Is his compliance to the mortals pathetic moral code so great that he would reject an offer to be without it?_

_No, it realises, examining the boys intent. He _did_ wish for change and he _did_ feel frustration and anger and longing, but he is unwilling to go to any length to express those things, even if the perfect opportunity came along, as it has done. He is the rare soul that genuinely wishes no harm on those who harm him. And he does not trust the demon._

_It doesn't matter. It is in charge here and although it would have suited him to have the boys agreement, no matter how tentative, it does not need it. Burrowing through the boys knowledge, it discovers the analogy it needs. _

"_Then call this a free trial," it says, letting some of the pleasantness leave its voice. "Since you don't have a choice in what happens now, it doesn't have to be on your conscience. Although I'm not sure you'll be able to ignore the consequences."_

_It laughs at the flurry of protests, deciding the situation is not all bad. It might be nice to have a wholly unwilling passenger in its first outing. He had hoped that the host would strike a deal, thinking he was allowing it to take his body when in reality there was no way he could stop it. And when it stood in the destruction of the hosts life, it could have uttered protest. "This is freedom, pure freedom – no rules, no limits, no mercy. Isn't that what you wanted?"_

_But there will be other hosts and those things can wait._

**~:~:~:~**

Anyone who was observing Pip Pirrup might have noticed a subtle change in him just after crossing the train tracks. Strolling to school, he turned sharply as if hearing a call, then stopped walking, staring vacantly. After maybe five seconds, his eyes refocused and his previously mild expression underwent a minor change, his lips curling and eyes narrowing until his face was almost sly. Glancing from side to side, he pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and examined the contents with a weary frown that would tell the casual observer that there was not enough cash within for whatever the boy might need it for.

Had anyone been watching, they would have seen him put the wallet back, glancing up at the road ahead of him, the one that eventually led to the school. Straightening up, he began striding in that direction, the confident walk of someone who has never had to worry about being singled out.

If anyone had cared enough to watch Pip, they might have thought it strange. But no one ever noticed Pip. No one at all.


	3. Not Alone

**Authors Note: **HUGE thanks to Garnet W, Komodo Butterfly, KittyBePraised, Blitzdrake and Alpha Hydra for the reviews! This story's so different to AEBH, I wasn't sure if anyone would even read it, so the comments meant a lot to me and I'm really glad you like it!

Um, I ditched the son-of-a-jackal thing, because according to SP canon it'd make Damien and Streisand related and that's a step too evil for me. Questions about how Asmondeus is able to do what he does will be answered, although not in any detail here. Hope you enjoy this chapter too and review please!

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_All by yourself, but you're not alone..._

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In Hell, the screaming never stopped, but Damien was used to it, heard it as mere background noise, like a television set unwatched and unheard, noticed only in its absence. There was no sun but it was never dark, thousands of fires spewing from the ground and illuminating the tortures that were routine.

Damien had never met the woman who had given birth to him and knew nothing about her, save that she was a mortal whom his father had deliberately impregnated. He didn't want to know any more details than that – if it was some immaculate conception, as with his opposite number, or if there was some actual contact involved. She would have had to be alive and not in the afterlife, and there were enough disenchanted worshippers who may have initially thought they were willing, but thinking of the summoning and the drama involved irked him, like IVF for demons. He had spent his entire existence under his fathers care and although he had asked about his mother, mostly as a child, he had never got any answers. He no longer cared to have them. He may have had a human incubator, but he had been raised as Prince of Hell and he disavowed all that went with humanity.

His fathers parenting skills had been sporadic in nature, occasionally nurturing, occasionally instructive in the duties he would be expected to perform for the rest of eternity, occasionally dismissive. Satan was not known for his caring side but it was there, although it made both father and son uncomfortable. They were supposed to be beings of evil, and evil beings did not hug.

Satan had demanded an audience and Damien knew better than to keep him waiting. There was a difference between a request for company and an order and this was definitely an order. It was odd; such instructions were rare and in the past had always involved a trip to the mortal world. Damien had been to many places but only briefly, the first time being an underwhelming visit to Colorado, later trips being much more interesting and filled with possibility. Damien considered it his duty to lead souls astray wherever he was able and their little trips to the mortal world frequently gave him the chance to corrupt. On more than one occasion, this activity had led to another soul being condemned to Hell and since all the people he had been in contact with were not yet dead, there would be more.

If there was something truly evil in all of Hell, reflected Damien, it was his fathers couch. Most of the pit had a distinct theme; flames and darkness, red and black, walls and floor baked terracotta. In stark contrast to that, his father, a ten-foot red figure with yellow eyes and horns, was sitting on a pink couch, adorned with tasteful yellow flowers. There were frills. There was loose change and finger bones hidden down the back of the cushions. A side table had a teapot and china cups with saucers, a plate of cookies, the good kind, noted Damien.

There was no office, there was hardly the need. The couch sat in the centre of Hell, and should Satan demand absolute privacy – well, the environment was his to control. Damien strolled up and dropped heavily onto the couch, stretching his legs ahead of him. "Hey Dad."

"Damien." Satan waved a hand and the ground surrounding the couch collapsed into a pit of lava. Several of the damned who had been milling around fell in after the debris, but they'd be fine once they climbed out and their badly charred flesh had a century or so to grow back. "I'm sorry, but this isn't a social visit."

"No duh," said Damien. "Gimme the cookies."

"Whatever happened to please?"

"Dad, I'm the Antichrist! I do _not_ say please!"

Satan handed over the plate and Damien grinned. Double chocolate honeycomb. Awesome.

"We've had an escape," said Satan as Damien started jamming the treats into his mouth, chewing noisily. "One of the lesser demons followed the trail left the last time Kenny went back. There are people starving in the third circle you know."

"I know," replied Damien through a mouth of crumbs. "How did that happen? There's never been a demon follow Kenny through before."

"Sheer chance, a series of coincidences. Right place, right time, escaped attention for the briefest of moments and took a chance. It doesn't matter. I want it back here."

"Why? Come on, it's just a lesser demon and it'll spread plenty of chaos up there. Could be kinda funny."

"It's a _lesser_ demon. These things look bad. Without my express wish, no demon can leave Hell, and yet one has. It gives them – ideas. Creates uprising. And I don't want an uprising. I have plans."

"Plans? Who is it this time? Wait – I don't want to know." Damien picked up the last cookie and bit into it. "So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to follow it."

Damien swallowed the cookie too fast and began to choke. "_Me_? I've never done anything like this on my own before!"

"I know. But you're old enough now to handle this kind of thing. And I need this kept quiet, that means leaving it to someone I can trust."

"I'm the Antichrist! I _can't_ be trusted, that's the whole point!"

"Can we leave the complaining until later? I'm the only one who _can_ trust you, does that sound better?"

Damien nodded reluctantly.

"And you can pass as human too. That's important, since you'll have to be able to mingle with the mortals."

Smirking unpleasantly, Damien considered what fun he could have up there, but Satan caught the look and frowned. "You won't have much time I'm afraid. Just find the demon, contain it and send it back here. Then you come back too."

"But daaaaaaaad!"

"If you do this well, you'll be able to go to the mortal world far more often. I'll even let you go on a little vacation. Rio's nice at this time of year."

"Lame," announced Damien, but he cheered up slightly. More freedom was always a good thing.

Satan rolled his eyes, wondering why it had never occurred to him that the cute, wriggling baby boy would grow up to be an obnoxious, evil teenager. "You've observed lesser demonic possession before. Do you know the rules?"

"Yeah yeah. Demon is bound by host body's limitations. Sensitive to religious crap. Able to jump from one host to another once it's strong enough. I _know _all that stuff."

"It might not be as easy as you imagine."

"Huh. It's a lesser demon and I'm the Antichrist, how's it gonna beat _me_?"

"Experience."

"Whatever."

Pouring himself a soothing cup of camomile tea, Satan wondered what he'd done to deserve this torment. Oh yeah, defying God, war in Heaven, all that stuff. Still, having to deal with Damien in one of his moods was a bit of a harsh punishment. "You'll find yourself in South Park, since that's where the trail ends. Find Kenny McCormick and ask him to help you – he knows the mortal world better than you do."

"Hey! I don't need a babysitter!"

"I thought you two hung out when he comes down here."

"We do, but I don't need a _mortal_ to look after me up there! That looks totally lame! I'm the Antichrist!"

"Kenny's not strictly a mortal. And if it makes you feel better, call him a sidekick."

"But _daaaaaaaad_..."

"That's not negotiable Damien. You need to keep a low profile and we don't want a repeat of that business in Rome again. It ruined my day."

"Humph." Damien slumped back in the chair, folding his arms sulkily.

"Do you want me to send someone else?"

"No! I'll be guh... I'll be goouh... I'll be slightly less evil than usual."

"Excellent." Satan took a sip of his tea. "You'll have transportation of course, in case it runs before you get there. And be as quick as you can. If those snooty angels find out we lost one, they'll gloat."

"I'm gone." Damien rose from the couch and grinned maliciously, red eyes gleaming as hot as the fires that surrounded them. "And I'll send it straight back to Hell."

"Say hello to Kenny for me!" said Satan chirpily, rather spoiling the whole effect.

**~:~**

The world was an amazing place, the demon reflected.

Although it did not feel the cold, strictly speaking, the host body had a reaction to the temperature and it was a few minutes before it realised the fingers weren't working so well because they weren't protected by gloves and it could see the hosts breath. After an eternity in the fires of Hell, it was a strange experience.

Pip knew the quickest way to the school bus stop and it walked that path, striding confidently, head high. Maybe its behaviour would attract some comment, but mortals were notoriously unobservant and as long as it didn't step _too_ far out of the bounds of normal behaviour, there should be no problem. Of course, at some point it would cross those boundaries, but for now, it was best to blend in.

Asmodeus needed to get as far away from South Park as it could, as fast as it could, attracting as little attention as possible. For that end, it would need to travel and a scan of Pip's thoughts indicated that he would need cash to do so. A _further_ scan showed that the boy had none. There would be none found at the establishment he lived in either. But there were people gathering at the school and many of them were in better financial condition than Pip. A few thefts and it would be almost rich. And there would be other opportunities, once it got on the road.

It sat alone on the bus, taking in the noise and confusion. There were screams and shouts here too, but unlike in Hell, most were excited or panicked rather than tormented. It was left alone, which it discovered from Pip's mind was not rare, although there were times when the boy was targeted for some minor abuse. It would not have borne such an insult and that could have caused it some problems, but today, it was lucky.

The school building itself was unpleasant, intimidating, soulless. Comforting. It sauntered up the steps and into the hallways, idly examining the faces of the other pupils. Some it did not recognise from Pip's memories. Others it dismissed, not a suitable target. Trying to act as if everything was normal, it headed for Pip's locker and opened it, surreptitiously putting names to faces and using Pip's knowledge of them to gauge the possibility of their funding his escape. The set of lockers here had been assigned to South Park pupils of the same age and Pip had far more knowledge of them than those from other grades or areas of the county.

The redhead – _Kyle_ – was unlikely to carry much cash to school, too cautious. The boy he was talking to – _Stan_ – was equally unlikely to be a good target and beside, the pair were practically attached at the hip, meaning it would have to deal with both and that could cause problems. The third kid with them it didn't even bother to consider – the baggy, no-brand jeans with holes in the knees and the tatty orange parka broadcast his poverty loud and clear.

To the other side of it, a blonde was shaking nervously – _Tweek – _and another boy – _Craig_ – was talking to him, both amused and soothing. No. Tweek was too afraid of losing money to bring any to school and Craig wasn't especially well off, although Pip's knowledge of that was a little cloudy. Craig glanced over, saw it looking and flipped it off. It narrowed Pip's eyes, wondering if it could get away with tearing the boys finger from his hand. Probably not. Then its gaze fell on the twitchy blonde and it smirked. There were other ways of having revenge that were more subtle and infinitely more devastating.

It reluctantly dismissed the thought. It had to _leave_ this town, soon.

A loud voice sounded near Kyle, Stan and the third boy and it turned its head, seeing a tall, fat boy – _Cartman –_ arriving, braying some obnoxious greeting in a way designed to cause maximum attention. Hmmm, this was more of a possibility. Pip's information on Cartman was quite detailed, from his whore mother to his anti-semitic streak. What it was really interested in however were minor things; he was excessively greedy and spoilt, and he was weak. The greed meant he was likely to need money for food, the spoilt meant he would have it and the weak suggested it would be easy to take from him. However, it was chancy. Cartman outweighed Pip and was a couple of inches taller. If Cartman chose to struggle, it would be hard to steal from him.

"Hey guys." A voice from its other shoulder, the words not directed at it. Asmondeus glanced over and saw a tall, handsome boy leaning against the locker beside his, arms folded, addressing Craig and Tweek. His dark skin was a startling contrast to the otherwise exclusively Caucasian student body.

_Token_ supplied Pip's memories.

"H-hey," said Tweek, a quick, nervous smile crossing his face.

It slowly grinned as it checked out the newcomer. Token Black, the richest kid in South Park. He wasn't especially tough, something of a pacifist in fact. He usually carried a wad of cash _and_ he had a brand new car, the keys to which would undoubtedly be in his pocket along with his wallet. All it needed to do was get Token alone and it would have money and transportation. And as an added bonus, he was one of Craig's friends. Maybe it could have revenge for the casual insult after all.

Craig glanced at it again and scowled, flipping it off a second time. "What the fuck you looking at Frenchy?"

It chuckled, hearing Pip's outrage at the words within their shared mind. "You."

Tweek stared at it, shakes becoming more violent. Token looked bemused and Craig seemed slightly thrown. It didn't drop its gaze, or allow the smirk to leave Pip's face.

A bell rang, breaking the moment. Craig put a hand on Tweek's arm as the blonde let out a quiet shriek at the noise. "Let's go. Shit, you're acting weird today Pip."

The students in the hallway began to disappear and it frowned, checking Pip's mind. They were supposed to have classes, but none of those were with Token and _that_ was who Asmondeus needed to keep in sight. Unless there was someone else it could take on. Either way, there was no way it was being forced to sit through an hour of mathematics. Instead, it headed into the nearest men's room and locked itself into a stall, using the time to make a more detailed scan of Pip's mind.

Pip had been to a couple of places away from South Park, but it dismissed the other countries out of hand, since it wasn't willing to risk plane travel for a while yet. Apart from that, the only place that offered real memories were Denver, the nearest city. That seemed like a fine idea. Once he was in the city, he could abandon this host and find another, vanish into the anonymity of the crowd and keep going from there.

Worriedly, it wondered how long it would be before Hell sent something after it and what that something might be. But panic would be fruitless. It merely had to bide its time and be gone by the time they followed it. Perhaps the bathroom was the best place to wait. After all, it was the closest one to Token's locker and presumably, he'd have to pee sometime, hopefully alone. Then it could strike.

A bell went off, signalling a lesson change. It waited, remaining where it was. After a few moments, the door to the room opened and someone walked in, using the urinal. Shortly after, someone else entered. It risked a look out of the stall and frowned. Not Token. The redhead again, washing his hands, a blonde kid – _Butters_ – lifting his shirt out of the way of the stream of urine. Mortals. It would never understand them.

It retired back to the stall, listening to them talk a little.

"Uh, Kyle? I'm k-kinda worried."

"Yeah?" Kyle sounded disinterested, putting his hands beneath the dryer and drowning anything else he might have said, although it could still hear the rise and fall of their voices.

"...Really twitchy and bad t-tempered about it," finished Butters as the dryer died. "You don't think he'll – y'know, do _it_ again, do you?"

"No," replied Kyle, but he sounded uneasy. "Whatever Craig said, it scared the crap out of him. He wouldn't."

It rolled Pip's eyes. Damn, who cared about the pathetic worries of a couple of mortals? Couldn't they just leave already?

Eventually they did and once more it was left alone with its thoughts. It couldn't afford to wait much longer. It needed to get away, before time ran out. It would have to lure Token into coming to it somehow, without his friends tagging along. But how?

And then the answer came to it and it chuckled. There was a tannoy system in the school over which the office would call students if they were needed. It could have them call Token to it. However, the staff in the office would need some – persuading. It was unlikely it'd be able to talk them into it using Pip's words, it wasn't as if they'd believe the summons was an emergency. It would need something a little more forceful.

Fortunately, Pip knew exactly where to find what it needed.

It left the bathroom and headed for the art department, loitering until the end of the lesson, when it would be easier to find what he needed unnoticed. It mused that this plan was going to leave a trail a mile wide, leading straight back to Pip, but that was unimportant. By the time they caught up to the boy, it would have jumped and they could do what they wanted with his former host, assuming it let him live.

The bell rang again and suddenly the halls were filled with students, streaming out of the room it had its attention focused on. As soon as the teacher bustled out, in as much of a hurry to leave as the students it seemed, it slipped into the room and headed over to the arts supplies cupboard, finding what it wanted right away.

_Perfect._

_You can't!_ Pip's voice in their mind was panicked. _I won't allow it!_

_So stop me,_ it replied dismissively, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't. These games with the host were amusing. It had forgotten. It slipped its prize into Pip's pocket, smirking at the boys pathetic attempts to regain control as it walked back down the hall. It would wait until the other students were in classes before it acted, less chance of someone intervening.

As it passed another men's bathroom, it sensed the hostile presence a split-second before the hand grabbed its shoulder, throwing it against the wall. For a moment it was horribly afraid that it had waited too long and the minions of Hell had caught it after all. Then it took in the face looming threateningly close to Pip's; a tall, broad teenager with stylishly cut dark hair, slight stubble and grey eyes that were currently filled with anger.

_Mitchell Curtis_ supplied Pip's memories, dismay tingeing the thoughts. Mitchell was one of the students from North Park, a mean spirited bully who was hoping to cruise through life on the strength of his athletic skills. He was widely disliked among the student body, aside from those who comprised his little clique and to girls who prized looks and status over popularity.

And Mitchell Curtis, although not nearly as rich as Token, was flashy enough to carry around large amounts of money and from a family able to give him that.

It grinned.

"What the _fuck_ are you smiling about?" Mitchell leant on the wall, hands to either side of Pip's head, advertising that this was not a conversation it should escape from.

"I was just thinking that from the way you're standing right now, it looks like you're about to kiss me."

There were a few students still lingering in the hall and they gaped at the amused words coming from the boy. It was an interested gape though. Mitchell was going to rip Pip's head off for that comment and none of them had ever seen someone _ask_ for that treatment before.

Mitchell turned a violent shade of red, leaning up quickly and grabbing Pip's shoulder, fingers digging in tightly enough to make the arm go numb. Dragging Pip to the bathroom door, he shoved the smaller boy through the door, turning to look at the watchers. "Fuck off out of here before I get you all."

As interesting as the massacre was going to be, none of the watchers were quite brave enough to wait around, just in case Mitchell made good on his threat. As soon as Mitchell was sure they were leaving, he entered the bathroom.

It had let Mitchell manhandle Pip into the bathroom, thinking how ideal it was. He had the boy alone and he had barely had to do anything. Mortals were so predictable, especially this type, one insult and they were trying to prove something.

One look at Mitchell's face told it all it needed to know. He expected Pip to behave in a certain way, not attempt to defend himself. There was a script that both boys had been following and deviating from it would confuse Mitchell completely.

It raised Pip's eyebrow, radiating contempt. "Are we embroiled in a lovers tiff?"

'Embroiled' seemed to throw Mitchell, but he rallied, sticking to the way things were supposed to go. Taking a step forward, he held up a piece of homework. "What the fuck's this?"

It gave the work a disinterested glance. "I'd say it was a piece of paper with some form of communication on it."

"It's my chem paper," said Mitchell threateningly.

"And?"

"I got a C."

"And?"

"I needed at least a B! I warned you what'd happen if I didn't get one!"

"Ah." It searched Pip's memories and found the conversation, where Mitchell had given an order for Pip to write the paper and do a good job – or else. No doubt something unpleasant would have happened to the British boy as a result of this grade. Ah well, it was his lucky day.

Mitchell dropped the paper, reaching for Pip again and gripping his upper arm, shoving the boy into the wall opposite the furthest stall, narrowly missing throwing it into the sinks. "You're going to pay for this, you fucking French faggot."

It leaned casually against the wall, unintimidated, and Mitchell hesitated. It could read the confusion in his eyes and realised the best course of action would be to goad him into an attack. It suspected that creative insults were wasted on the boy though, the best form of offense would be the old standbys.

"Yes, I do apologise for the shoddy work I did on your homework," it said in Pip's cheerful tones. "However, I had a prior appointment that night. I was fucking your mother."

Mitchell's jaw dropped and rage began to dawn on his face. "What did you say?"

"Do you need a hearing test? I was fucking your mother. Up the arse obviously, she's got a face like a bag of spanners and I might have vomited if I had to look at her too."

With a growl of blind fury, Mitchell dived forward, hands curled into fists, prepared to do some serious damage. Asmondeus waited until the boy was nearly upon it, then kicked up one of Pip's long legs so that its foot caught Mitchell full-force in the balls. All the air whooshed out of him and he staggered back, whimpering and gasping. Moving with deceptive speed, it brought back Pip's fist and slammed it into his jaw.

Mitchell took several staggering steps backward, falling into the far stall and landing heavily on the toilet, almost falling through the raised seat and into the water. His eyes flickered as he slumped, barely aware of his surroundings.

That just wouldn't do.

Asmondeus reached into Pip's pocket and removed the item it had liberated from the art supplies earlier; a Stanley knife more typically used to cut through tough substances. Well, if that was the objects purpose, then he would be using it properly.

"Mitchell. Look at me."

Mitchell looked up, trying to focus, his expression overtaken by fear. As usual, all it took to bring a person like that to their knees was the right method of handling them. It raised the knife in front of its face, flicking up the blade as it did so, relishing the sheer terror that the sight invoked in its victim.

"Oh God Pip, don't, please, don't cut me with that thing man, I'm sorry, I'm real sorry, please don't..."

_No_.

Asmondeus tried to step forward and was confused to find itself unable to. Then rage came over it. Pip was fighting it again – and this time, he seemed to have found some desperate strength, holding it away with sheer willpower.

Cute. But it wouldn't work.

Pip wasn't in control of his own body either, the host frozen in place. Asmondeus took a moment to focus on Pip, noticing that Mitchell's babbling was getting louder. Soon, he would be wailing and possibly audible to those outside the men's room. It was during classes, but it knew it couldn't take the chance.

It seized back control, wrestling with Pip's psyche briefly. Pip was desperate not to let it hurt the other boy, although it couldn't quite figure out why he would care, but it was stronger and more experienced. It was a futile rebellion, dealt with in a matter of moments.

Stepping forward, once more in control, it swung the knife in a wide arc, cutting through Mitchell's cheeks and mouth and severing his words at the same time. A spray of blood hit the wall, almost obscuring the legend, 'C.D + B.S 4 EVA'. The wound was messy but far from fatal.

In their mind, it could hear Pip's horror, sense him trying to pull away from the truth of the situation. That was fine, let him hide.

Mitchell made a loud moaning, choking sound that wanted to be a scream as his mouth was suddenly extended several inches, gore and saliva running thickly from the wounds, making it look disturbingly like a clowns smile. He tried to stand, but it put a hand over his face and shoved him backwards. This time he did fall through the seat, creating a muted splash as his ass hit the water, getting stuck in the ring.

It giggled in Pip's gentle tones – the sight was pretty funny – and spent a few moments watching Mitchell's futile struggle to escape again, listening to him try to scream through a throatful of blood. Then, realising time was against it, it grabbed Mitchell by the hair and forced his head as far back as it could manage with the cistern in the way. Something in his neck cracked and Mitchell made a gargled wail, eyes wide and hellishly aware. Asmondeus looked into them, feeling almost sentimental for his first kill in who knew how long, leaning toward the boys face and sampling the blood and spittle oozing from the wound with the tip of his tongue, killer and victim resembling lovers. No, there was no time for this.

It drew the edge of the knife across Mitchell's throat, bolting out of the stall hurriedly before the new wound could start to spurt, not wanting to get more mess on itself than it had to – that would raise too many questions when it left. It pulled the door closed and checked Pip's clothes out. There were some splats and smears, but nothing too obvious. There was no reason it couldn't get away with that, although it would have to roll up the sleeves and wash its hands.

After a few moments, it realised there was a trail of blood coming from beneath the door of the stall and decided it was safe to enter again. Pushing open the door, it regarded its handiwork, ignoring Pip's moan of revulsion deep in their mind. Arterial blood tended to spray and the walls were coated in blood, dripping down to the floor in splashes. Looking up, Asmondeus realised it had even got on the ceiling. Good thing it didn't have to bother cleaning up after this one.

It grabbed the corpse by the shirt, yanking it out of the toilet bowl with no niceties. Mitchell's throat had stopped spraying, but it was still oozing copiously. It dropped the heavy body to the floor, letting him crumple to the floor at an unnatural angle, scowling as it fell into the mess on the floor and splashed several fine droplets of blood onto Pip's shoes.

Reaching into Mitchell's soaked back pocket, it located what it had wanted; a wallet. It checked the contents and grinned. Enough to fund a trip to Denver easily. It had struck lucky once again.

"Ta very much," it said to the body with exaggerated Englishness, going through the rest of Mitchell's pockets and frowning when he came up with no car keys. Scanning Pip's memories, it couldn't figure out why not. Mitchell _had_ a car, not as nice as Token's but better than most of the other kids owned. Yet the keys were not here.

Damn. That made things more difficult for it. Still, there were cars everywhere and it could surely find one somewhere along the line. For now, it was time to leave, before it was discovered. There was still fifteen minutes before the next bell rang, but it didn't want to take any chances.

It closed the stall and fiddled with the lock from the outside, until it managed to engage the lock enough so the door wouldn't spring open. Then it crossed to the sinks and turned on the tap, washing the worst of the blood from its hands and arms. A look in the mirror showed more of the red marks on Pip's face and it cleaned up quickly, anxious to be gone.

Just as it thought it was going to get out undetected, the bathroom door swung open. It turned, ready to deal with the new threat – it still had the Stanley knife in Pip's pocket – and confronted a teenage boy, hood of his orange parka pulled tightly around his head so that only the blue of his eyes showed. The same kid it had dismissed as too poor to target in the hall earlier and, it thought, the same one it had passed over as a possible first host.

_Third time unlucky kid,_ it thought. _You won't stop me. _


	4. Don't Want The Attention

**Author Note: **Major thanks to KittyBePraised (now I have to find a way to get puppies with anger in their souls somewhere in the story, lol), Itachi. Oh Enka, The Brat Prince (join the dark side – stuff the cookies, we have the Gorgeous Antichrist!! Lol), Mizuni-no-neko, Camomilehottea and Hayze-Chan for the reviews! I'm really glad it was enjoyed.

Also, my thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter of AEBH and I'm working on the review replies, I just really wanted to get the new chapter of this up before I fall asleep head-first onto my keyboard (I hate Wednesdays). Next chapter won't take so long to post. Oh, and although Kenny does get slightly emo-ish in this chapter and will no doubt have his moments later on, he's not gonna be Mister Misery throughout or anything.

**&*&*&*&**

_No one can save me and you know I don't want the attention._

**&*&*&*&**

Kenny McCormick was the person that everyone in town knew, everyone recognised, and no one saw.

From his earliest childhood, he had been given some barricade from doting strangers by his parents, who were famously unapproachable. Should anyone take an interest in the child, bundled up against the cold climate in too-large clothes, they would typically be greeted with suspicion and hostility. His father would sometimes attempt to get involved in his life and his mother would on occasion remember he needed affection and go over the top in her shows of love, but they had other, more immediate concerns – their need to blur out the harshness of the world, the only thing either had to look forward to being the next drink. No one doubted that they loved each other, in spite of their frequent, screaming, violent arguments, and Kenny was never left with the impression that they didn't care about him – but he knew that he didn't hold much interest for them either.

He had become something of a wonder in town when he came back to life after dying at a young age, but after a few times it became the norm, unremarkable, like an unpleasant landmark that familiarity erases from conscious view. It was barely remarked upon unless there was some reason to bring his latest demise to attention, usually moralistic crusades that were designed to show the dangers of one pleasure or another. His system took on every assault and internalised it, spreading through his body like a fire that destroyed him swiftly, until a resurrection that showed no stigmata of what had taken him last.

He always returned and his vulnerability to everything, coupled with his inability to remain deceased, became just another part of life. Kenny would always be there, not even death took him away, and as a result he became as much a part of the background as the streets of town. It made him unpredictable. He couldn't be counted upon, because no one knew how long he might stay alive this time. Even when he was in a group, uninjured, healthy and breathing, he could be safely ignored.

Accepting of his status, he blended further into the background with oversized, shabby clothes that hid his thin body, hood constantly raised as if to prevent anyone seeing what he really looked like. Everyone knew who he was, but most would struggle to describe his face without adornment, mind seeing the image of blue eyes peering from beneath the hood. The reason that everyone recognised him was because they _couldn't_ recognise him. Even the people closest to him preferred to think of him with his face concealed, because when it was revealed it was usually after the latest illness, the latest accident, and those familiar blue eyes would be lifeless. If they remembered Kenny, they liked to think of him as alive and that meant that the hood was a part of the picture.

No one had ever known why Kenny would not stay dead, least of all Kenny himself. He had been to Heaven, been to Hell, performed the tasks he thought would be the reason he had been restored to the mortal world to do, only to once more find himself returned to life. His peers were tired of him being the poster boy for everything that their age group could fall victim to, his parents were ageing too rapidly through their cycles of mourning and rejoicing, turning again to alcohol to attempt a numbness to both.

As he got older, it occurred to him that maybe there _was_ no reason. Maybe it was some cosmic joke that he was the punchline of. Or maybe he was the modern day version of Job, except that he had never had everything to begin with and so his life, or afterlife, was the only thing that could be taken from him. Or maybe he was around to make everyone feel better about their own lives.

The future tormented him. His father didn't work, his mother didn't work, they could barely keep a roof over their heads and the meagre meals they fed their offspring. There didn't seem much point in Kenny hoping for better. No one would hire a guy who could be dead before the end of his first day and no one would keep his job open until he was alive, due to the unpredictability of his returns. So what, welfare? The town officials would probably turn a blind eye to his condition and not demand proof of life every time he returned, but it was hardly something kids wanted to be when they grew up.

Maybe his parents had the right idea, he decided. Self-destruct. Walk the line and see how far to push before he just fell off. Not quite suicidal tendencies, more a flirtation with the beyond. How much could he abuse life before it was taken from him forever?

He still hadn't found the answer that morning.

School was the kind of horrible monotony that drove most of his friends insane, but he rather welcomed. He didn't learn much, never had – he wasn't dumb but he wasn't ever going to be mistaken for a genius, any more than he would be voted Most Likely To Succeed in the school yearbook. And missing huge chunks of classes because he was dead put a crimp in his study time.

Still he didn't mind it really. Even in the dullest of classes, there was something to keep him entertained, even if it _was_ just a daydream. And his friends were all at school, at least for a short time longer, until their own normalcy took them on the path to college and career and a way out of the mountain town that held Kenny McCormick as its hostage. Once they were gone, it was just him and the rest of the deadbeats, rednecks and crazies.

His self-destructive kicks had become darker as the years had passed. What had started off as playing chicken with trains had mutated into the socially acceptable pastime of abusing his liver with cheap alcohol, made in a still and sold by hillbillies with few teeth and fewer scruples; occasionally, a bad batch killed him, or scrambled his senses bad enough to make him wish it had. But even that grew stale, with all the reminders that the habit was pushing him faster into _that life_. More recently, he had been experimenting with less acceptable methods of darkness; the weak drugs that made him feel surprisingly okay about himself weren't enough to dance the precarious line between life and death. His last two deaths had seen his pictures plastered across town, the dangers of heavy drugs and after that, risks of infections from sharing needles. He'd caught hepatitis from prodding for a vein with someone else's rig and his system being the way it was, what might have been treatable in other people had killed him in four days.

He came back clean. He always came back without the evidence of the life he had before. No matter how far into dependency, any dependency, he fell, he would never have the physical need for it upon his return; nor would he have any illness he'd had prior to death. Had he known what made him return, he could have made millions by curing known addictions and diseases. But no, that might have made his existence mean something and so all he ever got was the clean-cut, middle class kids avoiding his dick in case this was the one time he came back with the clap and decided to share.

The last drug death though, that had resulted in an intervention and he hated those more than anything else. His friends didn't mean to make him feel like a worthless pile of crap, but when they explained how his behaviour affected them, that's how he felt. The last one had been especially bad, with Butters in tears on his threadbare couch and both Stan and Kyle telling him that they _knew_ he came back fine, but they hated that he went looking for death himself, when it found him far too often anyway.

They hadn't understood, but then, they never really had. Sometimes Kenny wondered if it wasn't death that he was really addicted to.

Of all the people who tried to snap him out of the habit, it had been Craig who scared him the most. Craig grabbed him as everyone else left, the wild look in his eyes, speaking to him confidentially. "If this intervention thing doesn't work," he had whispered, "share the wealth." It scared Kenny because Craig was just crazy enough to do something like that without knowing what he was getting into and not having the luxury of dying insane and coming back clean.

Kenny had solemnly promised himself he would never go down that route again, never make his friends wonder what they were missing out on.

It was a promise he was about to break.

He'd gotten the gear two days before, in a moment of madness before reminding himself of the worry in Stan and Kyle's eyes, the fear in Butters, the curiosity in Craig's. He'd chucked it into a drawer because hell, he was the poor kid and not getting any richer, he still knew people who would buy the shit and allow him to recoup his losses. And then somehow, he had forgotten about it, or told himself he had.

He'd awoken that morning to hear his little sister puking whatever she and her friends had got drunk on the previous night, his mom yelling shrilly that it was all thanks to the bad example set by his dad, his dad threatening to quiet them both, even though he never laid a hand on any of the children. It set his brain to asking the same questions without answers; _is this all there is? Is this my future? How long can I cope with all this shit?_

And as he grabbed for a pair of cleanish socks, he had found the gear and shoved it into his schoolbag.

_No one has to know,_ he told himself uneasily, heading down the quiet corridors of the school building. Classes were in session and no one cared if Kenny wasn't in them, assuming him dead again. _It can be my secret. I can skip out again if I get bad, they'll just think I died somewhere and no one found me again._

The future was a puzzle and death a mystery, but the needs of an addict were immediate and Kenny felt like being a junkie again. Too thin, pale, staring unnoticed from the gutter, his only thoughts how to get through the next few hours and not dwelling on when, or _if_, he would finally die for good. And how long it would take people to realise that this time was forever.

He shoved open the bathroom door and almost cursed aloud when he realised he wasn't alone.

During class, there should have been little chance of discovery. Even less so in these bathrooms, which weren't frequented by the smokers and so were less of a target for illicit skiving or authoritarian busts. Of course, that made it even more likely that when one _was_ discovered, the other person would go straight to the headteacher.

Instinctively, Kenny took a step back, then relaxed as he recognised Pip Pirrup. Pip wasn't a friend and they had never travelled in the same circles – not that Pip could be said to _have _a circle – but like Kenny, he was just another part of the scenery. He would happily believe that Kenny needed to take a dump and skip away without trying to catch him out.

Neither boy had spoken more than a couple of muttered greetings since entering high school. In elementary, Pip had been bullied mercilessly and Kenny had joined in when he wasn't dead, but when they approached middle school, it seemed a little pointless. Kenny had joined in on a couple of random taunts since then, but had decisively laid off once they had been paired for a class assignment in Geography and Pip had helpfully given the meanings behind certain English curse words. No one could swear like the English, in Kenny's humble opinion. They hadn't been friends but Kenny hadn't harmed Pip in any way for a long time. Nor had he encouraged others to leave the boy alone though. If he saw anyone harming the British boy, he would just look the other way. That was the way of school, kill or be killed. He didn't care enough about Pip to sacrifice his own well-being, no matter how temporarily.

He expected Pip to apologise for his presence and scurry away. He expected lowered eyes and an awkward dance as the other tried to leave the room without getting in the way or touching him in any manner.

He hadn't expected eye contact. And he certainly hadn't expected the grin.

Kenny frowned, staring at Pip from beneath his hood. There was something – different. Pip was neither apologetic, nor nervous and Pip was _always_ those. Nor was he making any move to leave, merely lounging back against the sinks. His whole posture was different, shoulders straight rather than hunched, hands casually hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, head up. He exuded confidence and superiority.

Pip's eyes, almost the exact same shade of blue as Kenny's, looked him up and down. Kenny wished he had just gone to the smokers room. He was beginning to feel very uneasy and – shit. There was blood, blood on Pip's hands, a few dribbles on his shirt. Kenny began to wonder if something had happened to Pip, something that had finally caused him to snap.

"Ken-ny..." Pip's voice was quiet, the word coming in a sing-song voice. He couldn't have known what was going on behind Pip's mocking gaze.

**~:~:~**

_Asmodeus is planning to kill the boy quickly and cleanly, hide the body in the stall where Mitchell breathed his last and get out. It expects Pip to object and is mildly curious when it realises the protests the host is making lack the vehemence with which he was pleading for the life of the first. _

_It hesitates, curiosity getting the better of it. "Why don't you care about the life of this one?"_

"_I do care, just – make it quick for him. Don't make him suffer like... like Mitchell did."_

"_That wasn't suffering," it snorts, ready to describe Hell and the meaning of what it truly is to suffer. But it's time is short and there's something about Pip's attitude that makes it suspicious. "Who is he?"_

"_Nobody," comes the reply, too quickly. "He's nobody."_

_Now it truly is concerned and without warning, rifles through Pip's memories to find what he knows of this child._

_Oh my God, you killed Kenny!_

_You bastards!_

_Hey Kenny, where you been?_

_Kenny dies all the time!_

_What, did Kenny die again?_

_Kenny McCormick, stop your snickering!_

_Kenny._

_Kenny..._

"_Nobody." It's voice is flat, hiding anger. Pip was trying to fool it into killing the boy – and this, _this_ was the boy who had made its escape possible. The one it had followed, the one who walked between all the worlds. If this Kenny were dead, he would be able to inform Satan of what had killed him and if Satan hadn't known of its freedom before, he would after that. _

"_You want him to alert the forces of Hell as to my whereabouts."_

_Pip doesn't reply._

"_And you thought it would be alright, because he always returns. That _Kenny_ might be able to do something about my presence."_

"_...I suppose so."  
_

"_You can't control me child, and you cannot fool me either. I know what's in your mind. So tough titty, Kenny can't save you. Maybe you should stop trying."_

_It has a sudden thought and allows amusement to creep into its voice. "Or maybe I should just find a host who doesn't keep struggling..."_

**~:~:~**

"We know you."

Kenny had been unconsciously avoiding Pip's gaze. Now, his eyes snapped up to look Pip full in the face. He decided the words had been unthoughtful, the change in Pip's expression almost too fast to comprehend. Anyone else would have missed it. But Kenny was familiar with demons, angels, spirits, could recognise them as soon as they revealed themselves.

Pip's eyes changed, just for a moment.

Kenny remembered Pip's eyes as being blue. When he caught them unguarded, Pip's eyes had been a dull shade of red, _all over_, no whites, no irises, no pupils. He'd met only a few people who had that colouring – and _people_ was probably the wrong word.

And then the moment was over and Pip's eyes were blue circling black, filled with vague amusement.

"Something wrong?" asked Pip and Kenny was suddenly sure that _this_ was how he was going to finally die, in a bathroom by the hands of the schools biggest loser, a pocketful of oblivion that he never got the chance to taste.

Death seemed to have lost its allure.

"No," snapped Kenny, deciding to play along. If whatever Pip was didn't know he'd realised, then maybe he was safe to go on? "Just using the pisser."

"_Right,"_ mocked Pip. "If I were you, I'd run along to another bathroom."

"Huh?" Kenny took another couple of steps forward because a part of his mind rebelled; there was _no way_ he was being intimidated by Pip Pirrup of all people and over what? A change in posture and what might have been blood?

He glanced at the floor and went cold, his new vantage point telling him there was no _might have _about it. There _was_ blood, pooling from under the furthest stall, a steady trickle emerging from beneath the door.

Pip darted forward and caught Kenny's arm. Normally there would have been no contest, Pip too afraid to use any real force and Kenny too secure in his superior role. But things had changed. Pip wasn't afraid any more.

Or whatever _used to be_ Pip wasn't afraid.

"Ken-ny." Pip's eyes changed again briefly, to red and then back to normal. "You're famous, did you know that? Pip knows you of course, but I heard of the mortal who moves between worlds too, even in my own pit of Hell."

Kenny tried to pull his arm back, to no avail. Pip had him tightly. "Who _are_ you?"

"I can be called Asmodeus," Pip replied scornfully. "Although that is not my real name either. Ah, this explains why I began here, rather than somewhere else."

Pip dragged Kenny closer, staring into his eyes. Kenny wished he could hide his entire face behind the hood, protect his soul from whatever _this_ was.

Abruptly, he was released. Kenny half-fell, half-stumbled away from Pip. "What..."

"It's too soon," said Pip, leaning up and flexing his left hand meditatively. "And I can't even kill you because of what you might say. I know you have Satan's ear. So..."

He thrust the hand forward. Kenny instinctively ducked from it, his feet hitting a wet patch and slipping, his head contacting cold tiles. His hood saved him from death, keeping him from splitting his head on the tiles.

It didn't save him from unconsciousness.

He was vaguely aware of Pip stepping over him to leave the room, pausing briefly. He felt those eyes – blue? Red? – boring into him. And then the world slipped to grey and the last thing he heard was the door opening as whatever he had shared the bathroom with left.


	5. Trouble

**Authors Note: **As always, major thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Itachi. Oh Enka, Chels and Andatariel.x for the reviews! This chapter's a bit lighter than some of the others, so review and let me know what you thought of it!

**&*&*&*&**

_Trouble seems to always wanna follow me._

**&*&*&*&**

It wasn't the first time that Kenny had woken up in a bodybag, but usually people had the decency to check he was dead first.

As it happened, death was becoming a lot more likely, thanks to the scant oxygen remaining in the bag and he hurriedly dug in his pocket, finding a pen knife and flicking it open. The damn thing had belonged to his brother at one point and was dull as shit, but it was better than nothing and eventually did the job, ripping a small hole in the plastic. Kenny used his hands to tear the hole further open, taking in a lungful of sweet fresh air before taking stock of the situation.

People often assumed he was dead when he wasn't, just one of the many problems with being terminally unlucky and frequently reanimated. The last time it happened, he had nodded out in an alley and come to on the back of a garbage truck; since it was only Kenny McCormick, the driver had suggested they just take him with them rather than fill in the paperwork.

Speaking of which, Kenny had been in the bathroom planning to fill his veins full of sweet poison and let it take him where it may, sick of death, of life, of everything. So, a bad batch maybe? Cut with something? It was just the kind of sick joke that certain dealers got off on – but no, he hadn't taken anything, he was sure.

Thinking back, he suddenly remembered. Pip. Only it hadn't been Pip, there had been someone else with Pip, _in_ Pip. Someone who at least knew _of_ him, so certainly a denizen of Hell. Not a benign one either, there had been blood, he was almost sure he could remember blood.

He sighed. Dying was a bitch, but it didn't screw up his memory nearly as much.

Looking around, he realised he had been dumped into the back of an ambulance, but the doors were still open and he could see the carelessly maintained gardens and forbidding walls of Park High, so he hadn't gone too far. Damn, he wished people would check for a pulse but no, they saw the parka and hauled him off to the morgue.

Checking the back of his head and wincing as he felt a good-sized lump there, he climbed off the stretcher and out of the ambulance, taking in the scene. There was yellow police tape everywhere, sectioning off the school. Police crews were everywhere and in the distance, he could see a camera crew setting up, bringing the action live to the living room. And a crowd was gathering. Some, mostly those of an age to be parents of the pupils, were wearing their anxiety on every line in their face, firing questions at anyone close enough to hear them, shouting at the people trying to hold them back. Others, teenagers for the most part, were huddled together and whispering, not willing to admit they had no idea what was going on. But for the most part, the crowd was of one face, curious yet bored, expectant of a little street theatre, something out of the norm, their faces occasionally illuminated by the flashing blue police lights. It reminded Kenny of the times his parents would get into it on the front lawn, the neighbours gathering outside to watch although they had seen it all before.

Whatever had happened was already over, the police presence displayed that, but he doubted whatever had possession of Pip had stuck around to wait for the aftermath.

Kenny checked the crowd for any sign of his friends, but there were too many teenagers milling around and he couldn't see them. The only person he _did_ recognise was a strident Sheila Broflovski, demanding to know what had happened and to see her son. Glad he wasn't Kyle, Kenny used the ambulance for cover, slipping out of sight. If anyone realised he wasn't dead, the next thing would be questions and he wasn't sure sure how to answer them, or even if he should.

And then he caught sight of a figure standing alone, regarding the scene suspiciously from the shelter of a grove of trees that was supposed to make the school appear more picturesque, smoking a safe distance from prying eyes – Kenny had only managed to see him because of his attempts at escape. Finally, some good luck. If something was using Pip's body, then Kenny wouldn't feel right about letting the British boy walk the town without someone to watch over him.

His traditional anonymity had its good points; if he took off his jacket he wasn't Kenny McCormick any more, he was just another kid that might look a little familiar. Just another way of remaining unknown, hiding in plain view. Pulling off the coat, he tucked it under his arm and hurried away from the school, unnoticed and not stopped.

Reaching the lone man, he stopped and replaced the parka, figuring he was distant enough for him to be unseen. The man regarded him with cool amusement as he zipped himself back up.

"Christophe," said Kenny urgently, his voice becoming muffled as he replaced the hood. "I need your help."

"_Oui, _you need 'elp all right," replied the man, unsmiling.

"I need to, y'know, hire you."

"You can't afford me."

"I'll find a way. This is important."

Christophe frowned and Kenny crossed his fingers, hoping. He and Christophe weren't friends, barely knew each other aside from the acquaintance that being of the same age in a small town allowed, since Christophe didn't attend school with the rest of the teenagers. But Kenny was well aware of Christophe's _other_ name; The Mole had assisted his friends in the past and his identity was one of the secrets they had kept all these years – except from Kenny, who knew a lot more of the towns secrets than most.

"You 'ad better start saving," said Christophe eventually and Kenny sagged in relief. "What is ze problem?"

"I need you to find someone and then tail him until I get back to you."

"Who?"

"A kid in my class, Pip Pirrup."

Christophe waved a hand in the direction of the school, indicating to the confusion. "Does 'e 'ave something to do with zis?"

"Yeah. I'll explain it better later."

"What does 'e look like? I don't suppose you 'ave a picture?"

"No. Uh, he's about five ten, he's got really long blonde hair, kinda skinny and pale. He was wearing jeans today, faded blue, um, and the last time I saw him he had on a white shirt, only he might have changed because it was kinda... bloody. He usually has on this red jacket that's too short and thin. Oh, and he's British."

"_British_," said Christophe with deep scorn.

"Mole," said Kenny urgently. "Find him, tail him, watch him. But _don't_ go near him, not unless you absolutely have to. He's – dangerous."

"Is 'e armed?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. But he's dangerous anyway."

"Okay." Christophe dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. "Give me your phone number and I will find 'im for you and tell you where 'e is. But I 'ope you 'ave a plan once 'e is found."

"I'm working on it," muttered Kenny, accepting a pen off the Mole and scribbling his cell number on a flyer he found in his back pocket. The cell used to belong to Kyle until he got an upgrade, Kenny could receive calls but never had any credit to dial out, so taking Christophe's number was pointless. "Just find him. And try to stop him hurting anyone else."

Christophe nodded and left without another word. Kenny glanced back over at the school, frowning. Step one was finding Pip, but he had no idea what step two might entail. An exorcism? A priest? Perhaps he should just leave it up to the police to deal with Pip – but no, they would never believe that he wasn't himself. If only Jesus still lived in town, or he could contact Satan between deaths, then maybe he would have some options. Dammit. Kyle would know what to do, but Kyle was about to be locked away by his mom and Stan wouldn't know any more than Kenny himself. And Cartman would just sit back and enjoy the mayhem.

Kenny was on his own with this one.

There was a sudden crazed twittering from the sky above him and he glanced up in time to see a flock of birds rise into the air and scatter, making panicked sounds. Kenny blinked, surprised. He'd never seen that happen before – but couldn't animals sense evil presences?

Whirling around, suddenly sure that Pip had been waiting around all this time and had decided to kill him off after all, Kenny saw a man stepping out from between the trees. Taller even than Kenny, with unruly blue-black hair and an unhealthy translucence to his skin, he was dressed in black jeans and a black button shirt that only emphasised his pallor. He might have been one of the Goth kids, except that Kenny knew that his eyes were a red that wasn't offered by contact lenses, the surprisingly expressive orbs currently hidden from view by shades.

"Hey Damien," he said, striving to sound casual.

"Kenny." Damien approached, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.

"I guess you're not here on a sightseeing trip."

"Nope. Dad sent me. I'm supposed to find a demon." Damien glanced down at the busy school, noting the police and activity. "It's already been busy then?"

Kenny snorted. "You could say that."

"I'm supposed to find you first, since you know the town better than me." A slight trace of bitterness found its way into Damien's voice. "And the mortal world."

Kenny refrained from making a crack about babysitting – Damien wasn't known for his good temper and there was nothing fun about suddenly growing a beak – instead just nodding. "I think I've found it already. It possessed someone, I've got a guy looking for him now."

Damien nodded absently. "That makes things quicker. All we have to do is track him down and kill him. The demon should goes off to the afterlife at the same time as the soul."

"Uh... we have to kill him?"

"How else would we get the demon back to hell?"

"Exorcism?"

"Takes too long. Too unreliable. Don't panic Kenny, I'll do the actual killing, you don't even have to get blood on your parka."

Kenny scowled at Damien's mocking tone. "I don't think it's fair is all."

"If you want fair, you have to talk to the other guy. Who was it got possessed?"

"Do you remember Pip Pirrup?"

Damien stared. "Yeah, sure I do. Blonde kid, British. Stupidly nice. All the other kids thought he was a puke."

"They still do."

"He was the only kid in South Park who bothered with me."

"That's because you were a puke too. Self important, snotty, superiority complex... come to think of it, you haven't changed either."

"I'm the Antichrist. I'm not supposed to be nice." Damien frowned. "Pip's possessed? Huh. Well, let's go put him out of his misery. Where is he?"

"Uh... I kinda lost him after he knocked me out. I've got someone looking for him now."

"Please tell me it's not those three imbeciles you usually hang out with."

Kenny felt a flash of irritation at the casual dismissal of his friends and quashed it. It was rare that Damien didn't automatically hate everyone and even though Kenny was probably the closest thing he had to a friend, he still treated the boy with an amused but reluctant respect, more like a pet than a person.

"No, not them. I hired a mercenary."

"A _mercenary_?" Damien's voice was unmistakably amused.

"Yeah, and he's gonna want paying, if you could take care of that."

"Sure. I like mercenaries. You always know where you are with them." Damien looked away from the school. "I've got a car supplied. You coming with?"

"Yeah," said Kenny, resignedly. Any time he was asked for help by the agents of the afterlife, they usually waited until he was deceased. He hoped this wasn't the start of a trend.

The pair walked away, Damien leading them to where the car was. "So, you know about the demon. Did it talk to you? What happened?"

"I was going into the bathroom and I ran into Pip. He was acting really weird and he did that thing with the eyes, where they change? They kept switching to red. And there was blood all over the floor. Not his, he didn't look hurt and there was too much of it. As soon as he knew I saw it, he grabbed me and said he'd heard about me in Hell. And – damn, I can't really remember. Something about how it was too soon and he couldn't kill me because I'd tell Satan where he was. Then he knocked me out."

"Uh-huh."

"I think I might be brain damaged."

"So what's new?"

"You could show a little sympathy."

"I don't do sympathy." They had reached the road and Damien stopped beside one of the vehicles lining it. "This is our ride."

"_Sweet!"_ Kenny broke into a wide grin as he took in the car. It was no make he had ever seen before and he suspected that it didn't actually exist on earth. Something about the shape and the lines put him in mind of a sports car, perhaps a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but it was far bigger, the design harking back to the nineteen-fifties. Trying to work out the dynamics was almost headache inducing.

It was also jet-black, factory perfect (although it was unlikely to have been made in any factory) and absolutely the best looking car Kenny had ever seen, in real life or on TV. There were no numberplate's, the chrome gleamed, the grille giving it an almost sinister look. If he had to pick out a perfect car for the Antichrist, this would have been it.

"We can get four corpses in the trunk if we need to," said Damien casually, getting into the drivers side as Kenny enthusiastically leapt into the passenger seat. "And it can't be picked up by speed cameras or police interceptors."

"_Awesome!"_ Kenny leant over and started fiddling with the radio. "When you go back to Hell, can I keep it?"

Damien snorted. "You'd be lucky. When I go back, the car just kinda fades out after a few hours. And when I go somewhere new, it's just there. I usually sell it before I go back."

"Why, if it just fades – oh."

"Yeah."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the ringing from Kenny's pocket, a functional, all-purpose tone since he couldn't download anything better. Kenny grabbed for the phone, checked the unknown ID and answered it. "Yeah?"

"It's me," said a heavily accented voice.

"Mole." Kenny leant back against the seat. "You found him?"

"_Oui_. You may 'ave a problem."

"Like what?"

"Ze target 'as just car-jacked someone. With extreme force."

"Oh shit. How bad were they hurt?"

"Well, 'e won't be feeling any pain, put it zat way. And someone tried to stop 'im taking ze car. You 'ave two bodies lying in ze middle of Main Street and whatever 'appened at ze school. I would say zis Pip 'as fucked up, but ze British 'ave always been unstable."

Kenny closed his eyes. "I don't believe this. So where is he now?"

"I told you, 'e took ze car. Probably 'eading out of town."

"_Fuck!"_ Kenny slammed his fist against the car door, causing a flurry of protests from Damien. "How are we supposed to catch up to him _now_?"

"Zat's easy. I planted a tracker on ze car."

"You did? Damn Mole, I think I love you."

"Faggot."

"How did you manage that?"

"Palmed it and acted as if I was running after ze car. Got it on zere before 'e drove off. Easy."

"We'll come and get you. Where are you?"

"Outside ze Photo Dojo. And 'urry up. I don't need to answer ze cops questions."

Kenny ended the call and pointed dramatically out of the front window. "We gotta get to the Photo Dojo, it's on Main Street."

Nodding, Damien narrowed his eyes and started the car, pressing down the accelerator and driving down the road.

After a moment, Kenny cleared his throat. "Uh, Damien?"

"What?"

"Any chance we could do more than fifteen miles an hour?"

"Why?"

"Duh, because otherwise there's no chance of catching up to Pip! Come on, step on it! I bet this car can do two hundred, easy!"

"Yeah, it can." Damien increased the speed until they reached an amber light, upon which he slowed to a halt, ignoring the annoyed horns behind him.

Kenny groaned. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Damien had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "There's nothing more evil and potentially fatal than overly cautious drivers."

"What about speeding?"

"Going too slow is worse."

"How about you get out and let me drive?"

"Yeah, _that_'ll happen. How many fatal accidents have you been in?"

"I lost count, but that's not the point! You just said driving too slow is dangerous!"

"For the people around you, yeah." Damien flipped on the indicators, even though the turning was far away. Kenny began banging his head against the back of the seat, only remembering his recent injury after a bolt of pain spiked through him.

Eventually, they got to the Photo Dojo, driving past when they realised there was a police car and two ambulances parked outside, dealing with the aftermath of Pip's car-jacking. Damien parked up carefully some distance down the road, while Kenny scanned the area for any sign of Christophe.

The mercenary emerged from an alley beside a gift shop, cigarette lodged in his mouth and a scowl on his face. He slammed a hand against the passenger window and Kenny rolled it down.

"And 'ow long did you expect me to wait 'ere for you? Fuck, you could 'ave walked faster zan zis!"

"Bitch at the driver," growled Kenny. Damien glared at Christophe, daring him to say something.

"Who is zis?"

"This is Damien," said Kenny. "He's the Antichrist. Damien, this is the Mole. He's a mercenary."

"Anywhere else in ze world, zis would be weird." Christophe removed the cigarette from his mouth, regarding Damien. "We 'ave met before, _oui_?"

"Canadian war. You got mauled by guard dogs."

"I fucking 'ate guard dogs." Christophe removed what looked like a miniature sat-nav from his pocket and showed it them. "Zere is a tracker on ze car, but it is only useful as long as 'e doesn't ditch it and get another."

"You always carry trackers around with you?" asked Kenny curiously.

"_Non_, I was on my way 'ome when you saw me. I 'ave already 'ad enough for one day, so if you want me to 'elp you find zis man, I suggest you 'urry."

Kenny shook his head slowly. "We're screwed. Damien doesn't think speed is _evil_ enough."

"I haven't turned any_one_ into any_thing_ for hours now," snapped Damien. "You want to grow a tail?"

Christophe closed his eyes briefly, looking weary. "I will drive. Move over."

Damien glanced over at Kenny. "Get in the back."

"What? Why me? Why don't you get in the back?"

"My car! Move!"

Grumbling, Kenny got out of the car and Damien claimed shotgun, the Mole getting behind the wheel and grinning slightly as he revved the engine.

"You know what side of the road to drive on, right?" asked Damien.

"Zat's ze British," retorted Christophe irritably. "Speaking of which, let's get after 'im."

"Yeah," said Kenny quietly. "Before anyone else gets hurt."


	6. Fire and Force

**Author Note: **Massive thanks go out to Mizuni-no-neko, Hayze-chan, Akatsuki Feathers, Alpha Hydra, KittyBePraised and Bethany C. MacKenzie for the awesome reviews! And to Hypothisos for the PM! They're always much appreciated and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others! Um, I think Christophe's Brit-bashing may stem from issues with Gregory, or possibly issues with the Northern English fanfic author who puts him through all this shit, lol.

I'm actually doing the notes while watching the remake of the Omen, heh heh. The original was one of my favourite films when I was little, but then, I was kind of a weird kid. I can still quote the prophesy, worryingly. It's not too bad actually, as far as remakes go and the old film hasn't aged well, but they changed one of my favourite scenes. I am however, incredibly amused by the menu screen, in which Damien is dressed an awful lot like Pip. I'm rambling – but I guess it explains my Damien-love!

**&*&*&*&**

_I'll possess your body and I'll make you burn. I have the fire, I have the force._

**&*&*&*&**

Damien stared out of the passenger side window, marvelling at the snowy night. The white fields lit only by the fluorescent lights, snow still falling gently. And it was _quiet_. So different to what he was used to. Not _better_ in any way, just something almost new, almost forgotten.

He had been in Colorado briefly as a child, one of his fathers little phases where he decided to try some actual parenting and give his child a normal life. It lasted about a week. Damien had been resentful of the change, hated the cold and the sunlight. He couldn't understand why the other children didn't seem to fear or respect him. He'd made only one friend, the skinny British orphan who was as unpopular as he was, a trust he'd casually betrayed – he was the Antichrist, what else did people expect? And just when he seemed to be getting somewhere, he'd been whisked back to his own home. The mortal world baffled him; in Hell, the rules were clear.

There was only one person in the entire pit that could tell him what to do and on this occasion, his father had seen fit to send him after the demon. He wasn't exactly pleased, but it wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He was pretty sure he could take back the demon without much of a problem; slay the human host and ensure it couldn't jump to anyone else. Once that was done, the demon had no choice but to go to the afterlife, along with the soul of the host, to face banishment back to Hell.

Christophe drove the car surely through the snow-covered roads, not speaking, occasionally smoking. In the back seat, Kenny slouched with his legs up, safety belt ignored. Damien appreciated the lack of casual, idiotic chatter. Neither man seemed much up to conversation and Damien wondered if they had stoic natures, or if it was his own presence that made conversation difficult. Other times he had been to the mortal realm, he hadn't often advertised who he was, although most people sensed his nature on some level. Only in South Park as a child had he boasted of his origins in an attempt to impress and intimidate, and it had backfired.

"You haven't actually told us Damien," said Kenny suddenly. "What exactly are we chasing?"

Damien snorted. "One of the lesser demons managed to find a way out of Hell. My father believes it must have followed your trail the last time you left, usually your tracks are covered from the demons but someone fucked up this time. And they're suffering for it."

"I didn't know I left a trail," said Kenny.

"There's plenty you don't know about reanimating," replied Damien, smirking, knowing how much that fact rankled with the other boy. "This demon was probably biding his time, waiting for the right moment, then followed."

"I haven't died in about a week and a half," said Kenny. "Why now?"

"I didn't ask," said Damien. "It arrived in South Park, then presumably went in search of the ideal host."

"And it chose Pip," murmured Kenny.

Damien shrugged. "Why not? He's young, healthy, able-bodied. Perfect really. It didn't need much more than that."

"It," said Kenny thoughtfully. "It said I should call it Asmodeus"

"Huh," snorted Damien. "It wishes."

Christophe looked over at Damien. "Wait, isn't Asmodeus ze representative of some sin?"

"You know your literature."

"_Non_, my muzzer is ah, versed on ze subject."

"Oh, I see," said Damien, musing that he saw any number of souls in Hell like Christophe's – those sick of being force-fed images of damnation who eventually lost their fear of it. "In classic literature, all the deadly sins were given a representative demon. Asmodeus embodied lust."

"_Lust?"_ Kenny laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I don't think Pip's even _got_ a dick."

"Then this will all be new to him," said Damien callously. "Anyway, lust doesn't have to be about sex. It's more like greed, only greed is about having actual things, like money, whereas lust is about the intangible, like power."

"Or sex."

"Or sex," conceded Damien. "I don't think he'll be going on a fucking spree right now though. And you're forgetting, Asmodeus is just a convenient name for it. It's not really who it says it is. It doesn't have a name."

Kenny leant forward. "So, was your dad one of these sin demons?"

"Of course. Wrath."

"Figures."

"I don't understand why zis demon 'as acted like it 'as," said Christophe. "Should it not be 'iding? It 'as killed publicly, so does it not fear capture by 'uman authorities?"

"It doesn't care," said Damien blackly. "They can only capture _Pip_. They can't contain it."

"You will 'ave to explain zat to me."

"The demon can't operate without a host. That's Pip. Without a host, it's nothing but a disembodied spirit, it can't do any damage without a form to call its own. But it isn't bound to a single host. It can leap from one person to another through eye contact."

"Oh, that's just _great_." Kenny slumped back in his seat in disgust. "So even when we _find_ Pip, he might not even be possessed any more! How will we know if we got the demon?"

"I'll know," said Damien. "I can see demons for what they are, no matter what form they're in."

"Wait, I made eye contact with it. Why didn't it possess _me_?"

"It didn't need to right then. It served no purpose. And you're not a good bet anyway, it knew about your habit of dying unexpectedly from your stints in Hell _and_ through what it would be able to get from Pip's mind and the last thing it wants is to be caught up with your soul leaving your body. I'm not even sure that it could have possessed you then if it wanted to. It said it was too soon. It's been disembodied for a long time, it needs to gather strength before it can jump from one host to another without strain."

"And now?"

"The longer it has a host, the more it learns how to deal with the bodies limitations. I'd say it's ready and able to jump."

"Leaving Pip to take the fall for what it's done while it possessed him." Kenny sighed.

"If we catch up to it quickly enough, then he won't have to."

"Because you're going to kill him."

"Yup." Damien looked over his shoulder and into Kenny's outraged eyes. "It has to be done and you know it. Anyway, what's Pip got to look forward to now? He'll be caught, put in jail for the rest of his life, might even get the chair. Dead people, remember?"

"Speaking of which, it is nearly ze hour," interrupted Christophe. "Maybe we should see if zere is anything on ze radio news."

Damien nodded, flicking on the radio and raising the volume. The advertisements were ending, followed by the stations ridiculously irritating jingle, a plea to remain listening, a weather update, the jingle again. The relentless cheeriness set Kenny's teeth on edge.

"Here's the round-up of all the latest news stories from the Park County Area," announced a perky sounding woman. "Our top story; an incident at Park County High School has left at least one student dead after what appears to have been a fight. The dead student has yet to be named, but was thought to be in his final year. Police are seeking witnesses and anyone who may have information. More on this story as we get it. In other news, a South Park man has been arrested after-"

Damien turned the radio off. "Not much."

"But we know someone's dead." Kenny considered the list of possibilities and sighed. "Just not _who_."

"Think about it," said Damien. "Most likely, it was someone who chose the wrong day to piss Pip off. Who had it in for him?"

Kenny laughed. "You're joking, right? No one. Everyone. Pip practically had _victim_ written across his head. Anyone looking for a target could let loose on him."

"What did he do about it?"

"Nothing. He never got anyone else involved and he never fought back. He wouldn't even blame them, just picked up his teeth and carried on. It was the same as in third grade, only there were more of them and they got more creative."

Damien recalled the kid from third grade, far too nice for his own good and the target of everyone's casual cruelties. If he had been capable, he might have felt some pity. "Is there anything else we know about him?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It's a demon," explained Damien impatiently. "It likes to fuck with peoples minds as well as their bodies. It knows all about Pip now and it might go out of its way to screw up his life, or even the score on his behalf. And it's relying on Pip for its knowledge of the area. The more we know about him, the better we can anticipate its next move."

Kenny shrugged. "You're out of luck. I don't know Pip at all, hardly."

"Bullshit. You know something about everyone."

"Not this time. I don't know where he goes outside of school, who he hangs out with, nothing. I never see him anywhere, I don't talk to him in school. Once he leaves, he could turn into a pumpkin until morning classes for all I know."

"I thought you were supposed to be some help," snapped Damien.

"Hey, I'm here aren't I?" Kenny folded his arms, glaring. "What do we know about the _demon_? Can we like, drive it away with holy water or something?"

"The demon's bound by the limits of the host," Damien informed him. "If a bullet can kill the host, then the demon dies with them, unless it finds another host prior to the soul leaving the body. And it can't do things that the host is physically incapable of. Like, if it possessed a dog, it couldn't talk like a human. It can drive the host to its limits if it wants, but it can't force them beyond that – if the host needs food or sleep, then the demon has to let them have that or face the consequences. It'll probably jump hosts rather than stop though. And yes, there are certain things that hurt the host when they're possessed because of the demon, crucifixes, holy water, etcetera, but it'd probably just jump hosts again. It damages the person, not the demon."

Christophe took one hand off the wheel and picked the tracker off the dashboard. "Check zis. Ze car 'as stopped moving."

Damien snatched it. "Good. Where is he?"

"Not far from 'ere. We may be able to catch up with 'im before ze car starts moving again."

"Hopefully before the demon jumps again," added Kenny. "By the way, once it _does_ jump, what happens to the last host?"

"Usually?" Damien looked distracted, too busy watching out of the window for any sign of his prey. "The host either gets put in a nut house for saying he was possessed by demons when he did whatever he did, or he kinda blocks it out and insists he didn't do anything, or he forgets about the demon and thinks he did it all himself. Human minds are hilarious."

"I'm glad it amuses you," said Kenny sarcastically. "I mean, Pip'll be able to remember what happened while he wasn't in control?"

"Yeah, probably, unless he represses it," replied Damien. "Some of them do. And some of them just keep on going."

"Huh?"

"Even once the demon's left them, they keep right on killing and stealing and maiming. Usually the ones who got a measure of revenge from the demons actions." Damien turned and gave Kenny a grin filled with malice. "Something to think about."

"You think Pip's going to go on a homicidal rampage?"

"I dunno. Nah. He's more likely to go the other way, insanity or catatonia. That happens too."

Kenny looked skyward. "Why me?"

"Because God 'ates us," said Christophe conversationally. "Zere is a service station up ahead. I think 'e 'as stopped zere."

"And not to pay for gas," added Damien. "I hope you two have weapons."

Christophe didn't deem this worthy of a reply, but Kenny sighed. "I woke up in a bodybag. I didn't see anything in the back of the ambulance that could be used as a weapon!"

"Zen you didn't look very 'ard," said Christophe. "You may 'ave one of my guns. I assume you know 'ow to shoot?"

"Duh. I go to public school."

"We are 'ere." Christophe pulled into the service station and shut off the engine, reaching into his belt and pulling out a gun, handing it over to Kenny. "Take care of 'er."

"Her? What, does _she_ have a name too?"

"Mathilde," replied Christophe, straight-faced so that the other two couldn't be sure if he was joking or not. "Over zere. Ze car I saw your target take."

Damien and Kenny glanced over to see a dusty red saloon with a severe dent in the passenger side door parked haphazardly outside the service station. From their position, they couldn't see within the payment area, but there were no other cars on the forecourt.

"Quiet enough," commented Kenny.

"And it wouldn't matter if it wasn't," added Damien. "We take it down, now."

As they spoke, the automatic doors to the shop slid open and Pip walked out into the snow. There was a paper grocery bag under his arm, contents making the sides bulge. His walk was casual and confident, as if there was nothing more on his mind than getting home. That implication was belied by the smattering of blood across the leg of his jeans. He paused for a moment and examined his free hand, wiping it on his shirt and leaving a vague red smear.

"Looks like he got another one in there," said Damien. "Kenny, you distract him. Mole, you and me are gonna take him out. For crying out loud, avoid eye contact and don't get too close."

"Why do I gotta be the distraction?"

"You've gotta be _some_ use." Damien opened the car door and got out, leaving it open. Christophe climbed out of the other side, also leaving the door open in case the sound of it closing was noticed. Pip didn't look in their direction and the pair took cover out of sight.

Kenny sighed for about the hundredth time since embarking on the trek and got out of the car, slamming the door deliberately hard to draw attention to himself.

Pip glanced over to him, looking more inquisitive than worried. Kenny had the gun in his hand, but he kept it pointed at the ground. Let the others worry about the actual kill, a mercenary or the Antichrist could handle taking down a demon. He was just a guy who'd been looking for a place to shoot up and landed in a bad situation.

"It's over Pip," he called, advancing slowly. "Half the cops in the county are after you."

Pip glanced from side to side and gave Kenny a slightly puzzled smile. If he didn't know better, Kenny would have sworn it was genuine. "Then where are they?"

"I got a head start on them," replied Kenny, hoping the other two had managed to avoid being seen.

Pip's eyes narrowed and he dropped the bag unceremoniously on the tarmac, spilling caffeine drinks and chocolate across the tarmac. Kenny decided that after millennia spent in Hell, that demon had one fuck of a bad craving for sugar.

"You're not alone," said Pip calmly.

"Good guess."

"Who's with you? A minion of Hell. I can feel it."

_Damn_, thought Damien irritably. He hadn't thought that the demon would be able to sense him, but obviously it could. He was going to have to show himself and hope the Mole had better luck.

"Don't call me a minion," he said coldly, emerging from behind the car and facing the demon.

Pip – Asmodeus – threw back his head and laughed. "The Antichrist! The son of Satan himself. I'm flattered. Does daddy finally deem you ready for your first retrieval?"

Damien snarled, taking a step forward. He could see what Kenny and the Mole could see – a young blonde man chuckling good naturedly to himself – but that image was overlaid with the shadow of the demon, visible to him although no one else, obscuring the mortal. There was no way he was taking that from some lesser demon...

And then he realised that although he had stopped growling, there was still a snarl coming from somewhere behind him.

Hearing a startled curse in French from the other side of the car, he turned to see the Mole diving out of the way just in time. A pick up truck ploughed into the back of Damien's car, shunting it several feet forward. Kenny took several startled steps backward, tripping over one of the gas pumps and landing heavily on his ass.

The pick up came to a stop, reversing away from Damien's car and stopping a foot or so away from it. A heavyset man climbed from the drivers seat, hunting rifle in hand.

"Hold it right there!" he yelled, swinging the rifle in a wide arc. Damien wasn't worried – it didn't look like the guy was serious about shooting and he could only have got one of them before being taken down – but nor was he entirely sure what the situation was.

"Are you hurt son?" continued the newcomer and Damien realised it was some good Samaritan, misreading the situation as three armed men threatening some kid. Just great.

"I – I'm unharmed!" replied Pip shakily, doing such a good impression of shock that Damien was reluctantly impressed. But now he knew what the situation was, he wasn't standing around and waiting for whatever came next.

He started forward, eyes radiating crimson light. "Look what you did to my _car_, shit head!"

"Stay back!" The man trained the rifle on Damien, saw the glowing eyes and paused. "Shit, what the hell kinda drugs you on boy?"

A sound in the distance made all of them glance toward the road; a siren. After a second, it was joined by another. There was a longish stretch of asphalt leading toward the garage and there were no vehicles in sight, but clearly it was only a matter of time.

From the corner of his eye, Damien saw the Mole moving rapidly, taking aim with his gun and squeezing off a shot. He could understand the French boys reluctance – if he hit a gas pump, they'd be fricassee – but wished he'd shown a little less caution earlier. They could have had this over with by now.

Pip moved faster than anyone had anticipated, a split-second before the Mole fired, lunging at the man. The bullet missed the back of his shirt by a fraction of an inch and then he was face to face with the newcomer, who looked back at him, startled.

"Ah, _shit_!" bellowed Damien, raising a hand and producing a fireball in his palm, seeing the tell-tale sparks fly between the man and the boy as the demon jumped.

"_NO!"_ Kenny raced over to Damien and grabbed his wrist, trying to force it back to his side before he could hurl the fireball and ignite the entire gas station. "You'll kill us!"

Damien shook him off, but extinguished the fireball. He didn't care if he caught the mortals in the blast, even the ones who had helped him, but he wasn't sure what the consequences would be on his own body. Would he live through it unscathed or be incinerated and go back to Hell? And fire was chancy, what if it didn't kill the mortal and the demon remained within him? Going back to Hell empty handed would be too embarrassing. No, he'd wait – for now.

Pip's previously tense body suddenly slumped, his knees giving way as the demon left him. He clutched weakly at the man's shirt, then lost his grip and sank to his knees, burying his head in his hands, hair covering his face. Before Damien's eyes, the inky black stain that had overlaid him seemed to dissipate.

The heavyset man stiffened as Pip weakened, as if on the receiving end of an electric shock. His eyes went wide and he took a step back, mouth working soundlessly.

Then he started to scream.

The sound should have been beyond human abilities, but the sound was definitely coming from the man. Kenny cringed, staring at the scene. "What the _fuck_ -"

"Crucifix," replied Damien.

The man scrabbled at his shirt, trails of smoke clearly rising from within. A second later, he yanked at a thin chain around his neck, snapping it and hurling it as far away as possible, still shrieking. A burning smell drifted toward the watchers and they could see the thin wisps still rising from his chest and the hand which had removed it.

A second later, the first cop car steamed into view, some distance behind them but gaining fast.

"Fuck!" Kenny grabbed Damien's arm. "We have to go!"

The demon had clearly had the same idea, because it bolted for the pick up truck. The Mole let off another shot, which shattered the trucks window but failed to hit the man and the vehicle was in motion before the door was even closed.

The Mole ran for Damien's car, jumping into the drivers seat. "Move it beetches!"

Kenny headed to the car too and Damien was about to follow suit when he paused. Pip was still kneeling on the forecourt, face hidden. They had lost Asmodeus for the moment, but maybe Pip had learned something from the demon. It was a long shot, but right now it was the only one they had.

Damien strode over to the boy and gripped his shoulder painfully. "You're coming with me."

Pip didn't move, didn't even acknowledge Damien, in spite of the fierce hold. Knowing they were about out of time, Damien shook him roughly. _"I said COME WITH ME."_

This time, Pip looked up and Damien blinked. Pip's eyes were wide and, to his surprise, totally without tears. But they were also panicked, showing clearly that Pip was at the edge of his sanity.

The Mole drove up beside them, yelling out of the window. "Move or I will leave you 'ere!"

"Come on." Damien grabbed Pip's arm and dragged him to his feet. Kenny opened the rear door of the car and Damien shoved Pip inside, getting into the passenger side. Christophe hit the gas and the car burned rubber, screeching forward, the back tyres raising clouds of dust and smoke. Casually, Damien lowered his window and as soon as they were clear of the forecourt, created a fireball and tossed it behind them. Immediately, the small puddles of gas on the forecourt caught light.

"Nice distraction," said Christophe grudgingly.

"Hmm? Oh, I didn't do it as a distraction," said Damien. Behind them, the first of the gas pumps exploded, sending the cops that had just arrived on the scene running for cover. "I'm just fucking annoyed."

A second explosion shook the surrounding area, a mushroom of flame spiralling into the air and debris raining around them. Kenny knelt on the back-seat, staring through the rear view window. "They're really gonna be after us now."

The car took a corner at high speed, blocking the view of the burning garage from view. Kenny frowned – the entire thing had been a pyromaniacs dream – and sat back in the seat, glancing over at Pip as he did so. The British boy didn't seem to have noticed the explosions at all, merely sat trembling, staring straight ahead unblinking, eyes unfocused.

_Fuck_ thought Kenny, remembering Damien's mentions of insanity and catatonia. He touched Pip's arm lightly and Pip jerked away from him, still not turning his head.

"Pip?" Kenny's voice was gentle, trying to coax some reaction from the boy, but not quite knowing what to say. _Are you alright_ seemed fucking stupid and _hey, that was some cool blast huh _seemed frivolous.

"We're gonna help you Pip," he finally settled for. Pip still gave no indication of having either heard or understood. Kenny glanced helplessly at Damien, who had turned slightly in his seat to see what was happening. "There's something we can do, right?"

Damien narrowed his eyes and stared at the boy. Back at the gas station, Pip had definitely focused on him, although he seemed off now. His skin was filthy, the blood from his hands having been transferred onto his face in smears, but seemed unmarked in any other way. The trembling was probably shock, Damien decided.

Thinking back to third grade, Damien remembered Pip as a small, cheerful kid with a lot of problems that weren't his doing, his hair too long for the days standards, his clothes too neat and old-fashioned for any child. He could see the ghost of that kid in Pip's features, but time had worked some changes; Pip was tallish but thinner, his features more clearly defined. He seemed more delicate and less _there_ than Damien remembered, but of course, the last could be attributed to his recent experiences.

Pip's eyes refocused and met Damien's.

Damien looked back at him, wondering if his own red orbs were what Pip needed right then. He felt slightly unnerved. He was familiar with the aftermath of demonic possession and usually there was some kind of denial, but all he saw in Pip was bright awareness and acceptance beneath a thin layer of bewilderment that probably came from the situation he was in now rather than the one he had been in previously.

Behind them, more sirens sounded and the Mole cursed in French, trying to coax still more speed from the car. Damien tore his gaze away from Pip, checking out the wing mirror and seeing flashing lights turn the corner behind them.

"Shit!" yelled Kenny, looking out of the rear window. "Cops on our tail!"

"What – who are they chasing?" asked Pip shakily.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Let me think. Oh, I know! Anyone who killed four people in the last twenty-four hours, raise their hands!"

Still shaking, Pip raised his hand. A moment later, Damien followed suit. The Mole took one hand off the wheel to join in.

Shaking his head, Kenny slumped into his seat. "That's it. I'm claiming hostage status."

"They're not gonna catch us," said Damien, sounding bored. "Just call me a demonic chop shop. They'll never recognise us. I cloaked the car."

"We got us a satanic mechanic," sang Kenny sardonically.

"Convenient," remarked the Mole, not letting up on the gas anyway. "Remind me to give you a call ze next time I 'ave a difficult job."

The police car sped up, overtaking them. Christophe finally relaxed enough to ease off the gas a little. "We lost the cops."

"Big deal," snarled Damien. "We lost the demon too. And we've got no way of finding him again. By now, he could be anywhere."

Kenny scowled. "Can't you sense it, like you did when it was in Pip?"

"Once we're a few hundred metres from it, I can only get the general direction."

"You know its distance?"

Damien frowned. "Kinda. I can tell when we're getting close."

"Then maybe that's all we need," said Kenny.

"It better be all we need," snapped Damien. "Because it's all we've fucking _got_. I sure as shit won't hold back killing that asshole redneck. He drove into my _car_. He has to die."

"Can-" Pip's voice was hesitant. "Can someone tell me what's going on?"

"We need to stop somewhere and work out what we're gonna do next," said Kenny. "And explain things to Pip. Also, I'm kinda hungry."

Damien turned and glared at him. "This isn't a fucking road trip!"

"I know that," Kenny shot back. "But three of the people in this car are mortal and need to eat every so often. It sure as shit beats driving around aimlessly. If it makes you happy, we'll even eat the evillest food we can find."

"Ha fucking ha."

Christophe manoeuvred the car onto a stretch of road that was slightly busier than he one they had been on. "If it is evil food you want, zen you are in luck. Zere is a drive-thru McDonald's up ahead."

"Damien's paying!" announced Kenny. "Blowing things up always makes me super-hungry."

Growling, Damien slumped into his seat, wishing Satan had chosen someone else to grab the damn demon.


	7. Changed

**Author Note: **As always, muh huge thanks to Hayze-Chan, Mizuni-no-neko and KittyBePraised for the reviews! They made my day all over again!

So, I got a graphic pad the other day, which I paid actual money for and hasn't had even one previous owner (go me!). It's kinda hard to get used to drawing down _hyah_, while looking up _hyah_, but I'm getting there. I'll grab a dA account at some point in the near future and you guys can laugh yourselves into hernias at my crapness.

**&*&*&*&**

_Do you remember when I saw you last? Things have changed._

**&*&*&*&**

Kenny loved McDonald's.

As a child, it had been a special treat, one he rarely got. Usually it was his friends parents who took him there, most frequently Liane Cartman after giving in to her sons bitching. Entering the establishment still made him feel good, for a split-second remembering what it was like to be four feet tall and going into the warmth from the perpetual snow, smelling the grease frying, being dazzled by the overdose of primary colours and the excited chatter of the other kids playing with their Happy Meal toys and conversing through mouths full of fries.

There would be none of that on this trip though; taking either Damien or Christophe within the building seemed like a bad idea. Christophe would probably shoot one of the surly counter staff and Damien would end the meal by burning the place down. Instead, they went to the drive-thru window and Kenny took advantage by ordering a disgusting amount of food, two milkshakes and doughnuts for afterwards. He even talked the girl into letting him have one of the Happy Meal toys. As Christophe pulled away from the window and parked up in the car park, Kenny decided chasing demons was worth it if this was the pay-off.

Taking a huge bite from a quarterpounder with cheese, he glanced into the front of the car. Christophe was giving his chickenburger a suspicious look and Damien was pulling apart a Big Mac. Neither seemed especially impressed and Kenny reflected that they didn't know what they were missing. McDonald's was the food of the gods.

To his side, Pip nibbled half-heartedly at a fry. The British boy stared out of the window, still shaking slightly. Kenny could sympathise. If it had been him who had been possessed by a demon that used his body to kill four people and then left him in the care of a mercenary, a poster child for drug abuse and the Antichrist, he probably wouldn't have much of an appetite either. He probably wouldn't even be up to talking. Pip was stronger than he was given credit for.

"You doin' okay there Pip?" he asked between bites of his burger.

Pip shrugged, glancing over at him. "Not really."

"Mmmpphh." Kenny decided to swallow and start again. "What happened? When did it get you?"

"This morning." Pip went back to staring out of the window. "I was on my way to school and I heard something – no, I _felt_ something. And then there was someone in my _head_. It was awful."

Damien looked at him. "You didn't see another person?"

"No." Pip didn't look back at Damien and Kenny smirked as he noticed how this seemed to irk the Antichrist.

"Where were you?"

"Near Stan Marsh's house."

Damien's eyes flicked over to Kenny. "That's near your place, isn't it?"

"About four houses away," admitted Kenny. "I guess it really _did _follow me up here." He unwrapped his second burger and took a bite, but was unsurprised to find it didn't taste as good as the first. Guilt had a way of leeching the flavour from things.

"Pip," said Damien forcefully, scowling as the boy still didn't look at him. "We need to know what happened today. We've got to find that demon and send it back to Hell."

"Uh, you remember Damien, right Pip?" asked Kenny. "The Antichrist? He was in our class for a while, back in third grade."

"Of course I remember," said Pip distantly. "He set me on fire, as I recall."

"That's nothing," replied Kenny. "He turned _me_ into a duck-billed platypus."

"I 'ave you both beat," added Christophe. "I died and went to Hell for an hour and 'e put me in ze fucking non-smoking section!"

Kenny shook his head in mock sadness. "Harsh Damien, even for you."

"It made me laugh." Damien smirked at Christophe. "You should have seen your face."

Sniggering, Kenny looked over at Pip, hoping that the exchange had provoked some reaction, but there was nothing. The boy merely continued looking at nothing, his food in his lap mostly untouched.

"The guy with the accent is Christophe," continued Kenny. "He's a mercenary. He likes to blow things up, curse at God and adopt small fluffy animals."

"I do not! I _'ate_ animals!"

"Sorry. He likes to _eat_ small fluffy animals."

"Fuck you."

"If I'm your type, then I'm sure I can fit you in somewhere." Kenny chuckled at the unintentional double entendre, trailing off when he realised Pip didn't even seem to have heard. Damn. Humour wasn't doing the trick.

Damien didn't bother trying to sugarcoat the situation. "Pip, I need to know what's going on. _Right now_."

"Say please."

Kenny snorted with surprised laughter and Damien blinked. "What?"

"You should always say please. It's good manners."

"Do you know who I – oh fine." Damien gritted his teeth. "_Please_."

Pip finally turned his head to look at Damien. "What would you like to know?"

"Uh..." Damien couldn't remember for a moment. Pip was acting calm and collected, but his eyes gave away what it really was – an act. Then he gathered his thoughts. If the kid wanted to pretend like this was just a minor issue, then it made Damien's life all that much easier. "Did you make a deal with it?"

"It offered. I declined."

"What? No one _ever_ says no!"

"I did. That whole 'revenge on a world that treats you badly' thing just doesn't appeal. Sorry."

"Oh." Damien was thrown. Why the hell _wouldn't_ Pip want revenge? Revenge was _fun_ and he wouldn't even have had to take responsibility for his actions. It didn't make any sense.

Kenny took a noisy sip of his shake. "So, you remember everything?"

"Unfortunately." Pip's voice was quiet and grieved.

"So, you remember talking to me?"

Pip nodded.

"What happened before I got there? The news says someone bought it, but I don't know who."

"Asmodeus wanted money, it was anxious to get away from South Park before anything came to retrieve it. So it went to school. I think it was planning to do something to Token, get his money somehow... thank _goodness_ he wasn't alone today. Then Mitchell Curtis shoved me into the bogs, he was annoyed about something and I suppose he wanted a fight." Pip closed his eyes and shuddered. "Asmodeus took his wallet. Afterwards. Then you came in while we were cleaning up."

"Mitchell Curtis?" Kenny considered this. "Damn, it's about time that guy got what was coming to him. It's not exactly a loss."

"Maybe not to you," said Pip. "I don't think his family will agree."

Damien scowled. "He's not important. Did it give you any indication where it would go next?"

"Not really." Pip mulled it over for a few moments. "It went through _my_ memories, it seemed to be thinking about places at one point, but I haven't been any further than Denver since third grade."

"I don't suppose it'd make much of a difference now anyway," said Damien. "He can go through that asshole rednecks mind now and find some new place. Or just pick a direction and drive in it. _Shit_."

Turning away from the back-seat, Damien closed his eyes and concentrated. He could sense the demon distantly, coming from a north-east direction and getting steadily more distant. It was on the move and if it had been able to sense him at the station, would it be able to do so still? He didn't think so, probably he would have to be closer before it could, but then, he hadn't realised it would be able to sense him at all. And even if it could, it wasn't something he could do anything about. He was going to have to chase it anyway.

Looking over at Christophe, he noted that the driver had finished his meal. "Mole, you follow my directions. We have to catch up to it and I'm the only one of us who knows where it is."

"_Oui_, I can manage zat."

"And we'll stop at the next bus station and let Pip out."

Kenny gave him an incredulous look. "You're not serious."

"I am."

"You can't just let him go back!"

Damien looked puzzled. "It's not like we're in the middle of nowhere. _And_ I said we'll take him to the station. Does he need money? I've got money."

Exasperated, Kenny shook his head. "You think you're being nice, don't you?"

"I just don't see what the problem is. He's of no further use to us."

"He's wanted for four counts of _murder_!"

Pip started shaking more violently and Kenny cursed inwardly, forcing himself to be more considerate. "If he goes back to South Park, he'll be arrested and put in jail and it wasn't even his fault. We can't do it Damien."

"They'll think I did it, won't they?" Pip looked fearful, as if the thought of jail had only just occurred to him. "I mean, I knew they'd think it was me, but – oh, I suppose I belong in prison. All those people –"

"Be quiet." Damien turned his attention back to Kenny. "Fine, he can come with us. But if he freaks out, I'll throw him out of the car while it's still moving. And I don't see what good it'll do him. He can't hide forever."

"I know some people," said Christophe. "We can get 'im false papers and zen 'e _can_ hide forever."

Damien nodded thoughtfully. "That could work. Fine, we'll do that. _After_ we get the demon."

"There you go Pip!" Kenny tried to sound cheerful. "We give you a makeover and a new name and you can live a free man!"

Pip looked bewildered by the whole idea. "But – running away? Surely I should turn myself in."

"No, you shouldn't." Damien frowned sternly. "You're too pretty to survive prison. Unless you really _want_ to be some psychopaths bitch for the next twenty years."

Pip shook his head emphatically, blonde hair flying around his face. "No, I really, really wouldn't want that. But it doesn't seem _right_ somehow."

"What's right got to do with anything?" Damien settled back in the seat. "Mole, head north-west. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Nodding, Christophe put the car in gear and started in that direction. Damien flipped down the sun visor, using the mirror there to keep an eye on what was going on in the back-seat. Kenny was starting on the doughnuts, occasionally pausing to devour the milkshakes. Pip had returned to staring out of the window, shoulders slumped.

Surreptitiously, Damien examined the British boy. He didn't understand why he hadn't taken the demons offer, even though it would have turned out to be a false promise. He _certainly_ didn't understand why he wasn't more angry about the situation. Thanks to the demons actions, he was going to spend his whole life a wanted criminal with a false name – although thinking about it, Damien wasn't sure if that wouldn't be better for him. His previous life hadn't been exactly wonderful.

That was another thing; if the Mole was as good as his word, and Damien had no reason to believe he wasn't, then once the demon was contained, Pip would be out on his own. But the kid didn't seem exactly streetwise. Had it been Kenny or Christophe about to go on the run, Damien wouldn't doubt they could forge a new life for themselves. They were tough, they were devious, they could adapt. Pip however seemed far more fragile than either of them, not to mention far too honest for his own good. It seemed unlikely that he would be able to fade into a new life and never look back.

Although he _had_ survived South Park for all this time, not just the weirdness of the town but being the target of every asshole having a bad day. And he was coping better with the aftermath of demonic possession better than most people would. Perhaps he was stronger than he appeared to be.

Still, he couldn't see Pip surviving out in the world alone, not unless things changed drastically. The guy was too damn _nice_ for one thing. That had made him a target before, it would do so again. He needed to start standing up for himself or else he'd get eaten alive. What Pip needed, Damien decided, was to get good and mad. Stop taking abuse and find out just how good it was to be pissed off sometimes. How much better life was when one fought back.

He'd also need some other basic survival skills. He needed to learn to lie, that was a given. Otherwise, he'd be arrested the first time someone asked him what his name was. The excessive honesty would have to go. So would that burning desire to please, because helping others sure as shit wasn't going to help _him_ any. He also seemed to have some foolish notion about not hurting people and that would be a bad thing if he were ever in a corner.

But the most important thing was fighting back. Anger had a way of sweeping aside all morals and the more it happened, the easier it became to set those morals aside permanently. And there were no room for such niceties in the real world.

Damien smirked, feeling rather pleased with himself. Wasn't it lucky for Pip that he'd have the Antichrist to teach him how to behave? The boy was mentally constipated and Damien was quite happy to supply an emotional laxative.

...And he wasn't entirely sure why he was thinking of ways to help Pip survive. Why would he care if Pip got ass-rammed and murdered as soon as he stepped out of the car? As long as it didn't get in the way of his own plans, it was unimportant what happened to anyone else.

_Call it an opportune corruption_ he thought to himself, vaguely surprised to find the thought didn't make him any happier. Forcing Pip to take on some survival skills was one thing, but an all-out corruption of his soul seemed somehow – wrong?

Damien scowled. Since when was corruption _wrong_? It was the whole purpose of his existence!

Thinking it over, Damien decided he wouldn't have the time for a corruption anyway. The only thing he was here to do was send the demon back to Hell, then haul ass back after it. Yeah. That was the reason he didn't feel right about trying to bring Pip over to their side. He didn't have any plans to stop driving until they found the demon and that made it unlikely he'd even get the chance to try anything. It wasn't as if he could deliberately goad Pip into anger with Kenny butting in every time he spoke. The boy would just have to get by as best he could without Damien evoking his temper.

Damien stared at Pip through the mirror. The blonde hadn't moved, still watching the scenery unfolding. From the angle, Damien should have been able to see Pip's profile, but the contours of his face were mostly hidden behind a curtain of long blonde hair. He was skinny, dirty, blood stained. Damien had been right; he was too pretty to be ignored in the sexually frustrated atmosphere of a jail and seemed too delicate to be able to cope with being owned. In primitive societies, beautiful things were prized highly and although it was an odd way to describe a boy, Pip was certainly beautiful. And prison was primitive.

Pip turned his head and met Damien's eyes in the mirror. Damien shifted his gaze immediately, both embarrassed at being caught staring and angry at himself for being embarrassed. He didn't _do_ embarrassed. It was too close to shame and feeling shame about ones actions was pointless.

Instead, he focused on the whereabouts of his quarry and frowned slightly. It seemed to him that the demon should have gotten further than it had done, but maybe it had stopped for some reason. Or changed hosts again, which would be bad news. Although he could see the demon for what it was, the others could not and should one of them take down the wrong person, it would give them more problems than were needed. Still, on the plus side, it was less distance to travel.

He informed Christophe of a slight change in their direction and went back to his own thoughts. Once the demon was dealt with, he decided, he would hang around long enough to ensure Pip was given a new identity without incident and then get home. His dad would probably be pissed about the delay, but he'd just have to deal. The job would be done, what was the big deal about making sure all the loose ends were tied up?

Glancing back at the mirror, he realised Pip's eyes were still upon him, although the boy hadn't noticed he too was being watched. His gaze was taking Damien in, examining what little view was afforded around the car seat and the expression on his face was one Damien had seen on others before; unmistakeable, subtle interest.

Damien's lip curled into a smile. Well. Wasn't _this_ an interesting development? Although Kenny had scoffed at the thought of Pip having any kind of sexual desire, it seemed like he was sorely mistaken. Pip's face held definite curiosity as he scanned the back of the Antichrist's neck, his visible arm, the top of his leg. Of course, thought Damien smugly, he was only human and who _wouldn't_ take the chance to ogle such a prime specimen?

His confidence suddenly nose-dived, a new and unwelcome sensation for Damien. Perhaps Pip was just curious about how much he had changed since elementary school, taking the rare opportunity of being near the Antichrist to make some observations. Or maybe he was looking for a good place to stick a knife. After all, he had been possessed by one demon, perhaps he thought it would be a better idea to dispatch all those he came across, including Damien.

Self-doubt was new and not something Damien had ever wanted to experience first hand.

Looking back in the mirror, he realised Pip's eyes had suddenly focused and widened, his expression changing to one of shock and self-recrimination. Obviously, he had remembered the situation and his thoughts had been derailed.

If only Damien knew what those thoughts had been.

Had there been more time, Damien might have considered finding out for himself what Pip had been thinking, if only to rid himself of the nagging voice that dared to contradict his initial assessment. But there wasn't, so Damien put it to the back of his mind and closed his eyes, finally managing to focus solely on tracking the demon. It really _hadn't_ got as far as he would have thought; had he been in the same situation, he would have fled as far and as fast as he could.

No, he realised suddenly. He wouldn't have run. He would have tried to think his way out of the situation and find a way to escape when the time was right, laughing at those he had outwitted. He was just assuming that the demons fear of him would make it panic.

_Sin of pride_, said a sarcastic voice in his head. Even if the demon _was_ afraid, and it would have to be mentally subnormal not to be, it didn't necessarily mean it would run. An animal in a corner would attack and there was every chance that the demon would do the same thing. Which meant that they could be about to run into a nasty surprise.

Damien wasn't too worried – he didn't think there was any way the demon could harm him, although his travelling companions were another matter – but he was beginning to wonder just how far the demon would go to avoid being returned to Hell. They were supposed to be keeping the affair quiet and the longer the demon was on the loose, the more havoc it could create and the more attention it would attract. He needed to end this, quickly.

"We're nearly there," he said suddenly, opening his eyes and glancing over at Christophe, who acknowledged this with a slight nod.

Kenny leaned between the seats. "What are we looking for?"

"If I knew that, it'd be easy," snapped Damien. "I'll know when I see it. It's close though... that way."

Kenny looked out of the window, checking out where they were. He hadn't noticed the name of the town as they entered, but it was another pissant Colorado town, probably not far from South Park, vaguely familiar. It seemed slightly more populated than his own home, more houses and shops, a few people walking around in spite of the late hour. Still, it was an odd choice for someone hoping to get lost in the crowd.

Christophe navigated the streets, trying to follow the instructions as closely as the roads would allow. It wasn't always easy – Damien would tell him to turn when doing so would lead them straight into a wall – but eventually Damien sat up straight in the seat. "We're here."

Kenny glanced around. "Where is it?"

"In there." Damien pointed to a building. "Come on, you two grab some guns and let's get moving. Pip, stay in the car."

Christophe stared at Damien in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"What?"

"Can't you read?"

Kenny interrupted. "What he's trying to say is, _that's a fucking cop shop_!"

"Filled with 'eavily armed men who are not too bright," added Christophe. "We go in zere, zey will shoot us. Or arrest us, zere are more of zem and I am _not_ being taken down by some fucking cop!"

Damien's eyes began to glow. "You're trying to tell me, it got itself _police protection_?"

Falling back into the seat, he thought it over. There was no way he could go barging into a police station and demand to be allowed to take down a demon – it was possible, but he was supposed to be doing this mission discretely and there was nothing sneaky about cutting a path of destruction through a police station. He had been right, the demon hadn't run – it had bought itself some time to work out what its next move should be.

And there was nothing Damien could do about it.

Clenching his fists, Damien snarled. Across the street, a decorative stone fountain that had been raining a delicate cascade of water suddenly started spewing flames, causing shrieks of alarm from the few bystanders, and from Pip. Damien took no notice at all, his fury over being cheated growing.

"_Oooohhh FUCK!"_


	8. Tearing Me Apart

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Akatsuki Feathers, Mizuni-no-neko, KittyBePraised and Hayze-Chan for the lovely reviews! And also to everyone who reviewed my most recent one-shot (I was surprised but wholly delighted by the positive views!). I'm thinking that my next project might be a series of one-shots related by topic, but no promises since I currently have writers ADD.

This chapter feels a little forced to me, but I've been frigging around with it for days and I've decided to just post, since I'm not helping it any with the constant changes. Hope you'll enjoy and review!

**&*&*&*&**

_This thing is slowly taking me apart..._

**&*&*&*&**

Officer Kathryn Lewis was annoyed.

She had joined the force as soon as she finished High School, inspired by television images of high speed car chases, hunting down bad guys in tense stakeouts, drinking endless cups of coffee while trying to piece together clues. She imagined herself rising quickly through the ranks, promotion after promotion earned through hard work and good instincts.

To be fair, she hadn't really been a part of the police force long, but it wasn't as if she was even being given a _chance_. There were no opportunities for her to demonstrate just how _good_ she could be at her job; the crime rate was relatively low and when she did go on a call out, it was always something mundane – drunks, domestics, minor shoplifting offences by surly, bored teenagers, who saw she wasn't much older than they were and treated her with a noted lack of respect.

And now, the most exciting thing to happen in their town _ever_ and where was she? Stuck on the front desk, speaking to the public. So far, all she had done was take a few calls and give directions to a confused elderly couple who were heading for Denver. Meanwhile, the rest of the force were either in the back, interviewing the crazy man they had brought in earlier, or else they were on patrol looking for a teenage spree killer who may or may not have been sighted nearby.

And she was stuck playing secretary.

Sighing, she leant on the counter and tried to focus on her paperwork. She wasn't making much headway with it, too annoyed by the days events, but it beat staring at the wall and freed up some time later on. At least it was a quiet evening.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the automatic doors of the station swished open and she sighed, looking up from her paperwork and examining the newcomer. At this time of night, she would have expected a stumbling drunk perhaps, or someone reporting their wallet stolen.

Instead, she looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Straightening up, she unconsciously put a hand to her hair to make sure none of it was out of place, checking the man out further. He was tall, with messy blonde hair and a hopeful smile on his face. Upon seeing her, the smile became just that little bit more wicked. The baggy, torn jeans and oversized hoody merely added to his bad-boy aura.

"Hey there," he said, leaning on the counter and looking back at her through the bullet proof glass.

"Hello Sir," she said, trying to maintain a professional aura, even thought the guy was giving her a direct, intense look with _seriously_ flirtatious overtones, one that was bypassing her common sense and talking directly to her libido. "How can I help you?"

"Thing is, I'm just passing through town – I'm on my way home from visiting friends. My puppy, uh, Fluffikins, needed to take care of some business, so I stopped to let him out. Only he was too fast for me and he's run off. Has anyone brought a lost dog in here?"

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "No one's brought in a lost dog. There's a pound, but it'll be closed to the public at this time of night."

"Damn," he said, glancing down at the collar he held. Kathryn glanced at it and frowned. The collar was black leather, with vicious looking spikes sticking at least three inches out. Suddenly, she hoped that no one brought Fluffikins in for her to deal with.

"Maybe you should give me your phone number," she said, feeling slightly daring for suggesting it. "I can call you if someone brings it here."

"That'd be great," he said, taking a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "If I have to drive back down here in the morning, I'd rather be coming down to see you than visit the pound. Got a pen?"

"Sure," she said, blushing slightly, pushing a Biro through the narrow gap. Damn, he was cute and he couldn't be much younger than her, if he was able to drive. And his body language and the way he worded things definitely indicated his interest.

"Hey, I'm not distracting you from your work am I?" he asked as he scribbled on the paper.

"Oh, no," she said with a giggle, knowing she probably shouldn't flirt back when she was on duty, but this was an opportunity too good to pass up. "There's nothing much happening here tonight and everyone else is busy with the guy in the back."

He glanced up at her, looking curious. "You're not playing good cop, bad cop with the others?"

She laughed again, but there was a rather bitter edge to it. "I'm not _experienced _enough, so I get desk duty."

"That's a bummer," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Still, at least you being in here improves the look of the place."

Kathryn's blush was more noticeable this time and she tried to hide it by pretending she hadn't heard the comment, starting to babble. "Well, that guy's bad news anyway. He was running from a crime scene and he just rammed a cruiser and started shooting at the officers."

"Whoa."

"I know. I'd rather be out here than facing some dusthead."

His face was a mask of awe and Kathryn felt pleased she had managed to grab his attention. "Seriously? He was shooting at you guys?"

"Well – not at me. But I was here when they brought him in and he was _glaring_ at me."

"You were that close?"

"Yeah. He looked crazy, y'know? Some redneck guy, real big and mean. He'd burned himself all over his hands, but it was like he didn't even feel it. Never a dull moment around here."

"Guess not!" The boy let his gaze wander over the parts of her body that the view through the glass afforded before meeting her eyes again. "I have to go, try and find Fluffikins before I start off for home. But call me if anyone brings him in. Or even if they don't."

"I will," she said, ducking her head and smiling shyly. The boy pushed the paper through the gap in the window and she looked at it, seeing his name and the number beneath.

"See you later," he said, walking out of the station but looking over his shoulder and winking.

Kathryn smiled dreamily at the door. "Speak to you later Kyle."

**~:~**

Kenny pulled his hood back up he moment he was out of sight of the doors of the station. Jogging up to the car, he threw himself into the seat beside Pip and looked at the people waiting impatiently to hear his news. "It's the same guy from the sound – his hands are burned, just like the one Asmodeus jumped into."

Damien nodded. "And?"

"He's been arrested – the chick made it sound like he did it on purpose. I think he's trying to avoid you."

"Yeah, he _better _avoid me," growled Damien. "When I catch up to him, I'm gonna send him back to the blackest pit of Hell I can find and make it my personal responsibility to see that he doesn't get a moments peace."

Christophe lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "So, what's ze plan?"

"I could just torch the whole place," said Damien promptly. "That'd deal with the host _and _make it impossible for it to jump to a new one."

"No!" Pip leant forward, suddenly animated. "There's innocent people in there!"

"They're cops. They're not innocent."

"It's hardly low profile though," said Kenny.

Damien glanced at Christophe. "Can you get in there quietly?"

"_Non_. I could get in and kill 'im, but it would _not_ be low profile."

Glaring ferociously through the window, Damien thought over his options, which were depressingly few. Either he could torch the station and attract attention, which would piss off his dad. Or they could storm the station, which had the same problems plus the added headache of their possible capture or death. Or they could wait until the demon started moving again, which could take days.

Damien tried to imagine what he would do in the demons position. It was unlikely that the host would remain in the station for long anyway – more likely, he would be moved in the morning to either a court or to a jail proper, rather than remaining in the cells. But would Asmodeus stay in the host? Unlikely. The demon would hope that they would chase the host, not it, and its best chance would be to jump into another host – most likely a cop – and then make a quick getaway at a time when there was a little more activity than there currently was.

So, if it was going to run, it would probably do so in the morning. Leaving them an entire night to sit outside in the car and stare at the cop shop.

Just fucking great.

"We'll have to wait until it moves," said Damien moodily. "Prepare yourselves for a long night."

"We're staying in the car?" whined Kenny.

"Yup."

"Oh man." Kenny considered it for a moment and then turned his not-inconsiderable powers of persuasion on Damien. "Y'know, it'd be a better idea if we found somewhere to stay. The three of us need some sleep and we'd be so much _better_ at demon hunting if we could do that somewhere comfortable."

Damien glared at him. "You're suggesting we _get a room_?"

Kenny smirked. "Should I take that how it sounded?"

Involuntarily, Damien's eyes flicked in Pip's direction, then back at Kenny. "No. And we're not getting a room. It could come out at any minute!"

"I disagree," said Christophe unexpectedly. "It will wait for a while, 'ope you 'ave given up. And even if it swaps 'osts, it will try to act natural and wait until ze 'ost would normally leave, not at zis time of night. Zis place is not ideal for dealing with ze demon anyway and you can track it where ever it goes."

"I'm not a Satanic homing pigeon!"

"And we are not Satanic anything," replied Christophe. "We are 'uman. I 'ave come 'ere without a break from my last excursion, Kenny 'as been knocked out and Pip – 'as not 'ad a good day. You learn in combat zat it is good to rest where you can."

"The number one rule?" asked Damien with heavy sarcasm.

"_Non_. Ze number one rule is always 'ave a shovel."

"Fine!" Damien threw up his hands in disgust. "Let's go to a hotel. I'm sure they'll take one look at us and roll out the red carpet. Just before they recognise Pip and call... look, there's nowhere we can realistically go."

"We'll think of something." Christophe stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it before putting the car in gear and driving off. He seemed confident enough of finding shelter, which annoyed Damien no end.

"Here." Kenny handed the collar back to Damien. "Y'know, I've met people who keep some weird shit in their glove box but why a collar?"

"Never know when it'll come in handy," smirked Damien, glancing swiftly at Pip, who seemed both disturbed and embarrassed.

"What the hell else is in there, or shouldn't I ask?"

"Probably not. Just the usual stuff anyway – mints, sunglasses, dagger of Megiddo, maps, underpants and change."

"Underpants?"

"It's just a precaution," said Damien defensively.

"And the dagger?"

"All seven together could kill me, so I keep them scattered where humans can't find them."

"Can I..."

"No." Damien put the collar back. "Where are we going?"

"Ze upscale area of town," said Christophe casually. "At zis time of year, some of zem are bound to be on 'oliday."

"That'd be good thinking, _if _they advertised the house was empty."

"Zey do." Christophe smirked. "You just 'ave to know what to look for."

**~:~**

"Over there."

Damien indicated to a house set back from the street, almost hidden from view behind some tasteful hedges. It was clearly the property of someone with a comfortable standard of living.

Kenny leant forward. "Dude, how do you know there's no one home?"

"No souls."

"And if they're ginger? Or at the cinema and come home?"

"_Non_," replied Christophe. "Automatic lights. Zey changed a moment ago, all on and off at ze same time. It is supposed to be for security, so it looks like zere is someone 'ome, but it merely shows zey are not due back for a while."

"You can park in the driveway," said Damien. "No one notices my car when it doesn't want to be seen."

Christophe pulled the car into the driveway and shut off the engine. Pip frowned. "Wait, we can't just break into someone's house!"

"Sure we can," said Damien. "I can fry the alarms and I bet Mole can pick the locks."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Chill," said Kenny. "We're just borrowing their roof. We're not gonna rip them off, _are we Damien_?"

"I'm promising nothing."

The group got out of the car, Kenny frowning slightly. "I don't think it's a good idea to leave the car in plain view like this."

Damien snorted. "What car?"

Kenny turned to look back at the car. It was there – but he really had to focus on it to be sure. His eyes wanted to slide away from it without paying attention. It was giving him a headache.

"Okay, I'll believe no one'll notice."

Christophe and Damien went to work, forcing the lock and killing the alarm before letting Kenny and Pip into the house. All the signs pointed to the owners being away for a while – the appliances were unplugged, there were no perishable foodstuffs in the kitchen and the water heater was switched off – but Pip was worried anyway. When the owners _did_ return, they would no doubt realise someone had been there and although he was almost sure they weren't going to take anything valuable and then burn the place to the ground, it would still be upsetting for them.

It was too bad. They needed to rest for awhile. Well – Damien apparently didn't. And Pip wasn't sure he would be able to sleep, in spite of his exhaustion. But they couldn't keep up the chase without stopping.

Kenny vanished into the kitchen and returned with packaged snack food, looking pleased. "We hit the jackpot. There's a ton of this crap around."

"Forget zat," said Christophe, plugging in the television set and switching it on. "It's a good idea to find out what's going on, 'ow much zey know about ze situation."

Pip settled on one side of the couch, curling his legs beneath him and wrapping his arms around his waist. He was aware of his defensive posture, but really didn't care. Instead, he got his first good look at his rescuers away from the confines of the car.

Christophe was obviously French, but Pip was determined not to hold that against him. The man was surly and quiet, clearly used to this kind of situation. Vaguely, Pip wondered how he had gotten involved. Perhaps Damien had brought him from Hell with him as an assistant or something. He remained standing, cautious and wary, using the remote to change channels on the television.

Kenny was – well, the same as he always was in school. Not exactly talkative, but compared to the other two, he was a conversational king, cheery and reassuring. Although he still hadn't taken off the bloody hood. He perched on the arm of the couch, snacking on cheesy poofs, although Pip couldn't understand how the hood didn't hinder the operation.

Damien lounged nonchalantly on the other side of the couch, beside where Kenny sat, hands folded behind his head, legs stretched across the floor, taking up space. His attitude was the exact opposite of Pip's attempts to make as little impression as possible. Pip gave him a sideways glance. His thick, overgrown black hair and pale skin would send the Goth kids into paroxysms of jealousy reflected the boy, coming as it did without the aid of dye and make up. He was tall enough to be imposing without standing out too much, wiry rather than muscular. And those eyes, beneath thick, angry brows, were _red_. Whenever they were turned on Pip, he could feel the heat in them.

"I 'ave ze news," announced Christophe, ceasing his channel-hopping. Kenny didn't stop eating, not seeming terribly interested, but Damien jerked his head up to examine the screen. Pip didn't really want to look, didn't want to _know_, but was unable to resist.

The television showed a shot of the school, clearly filmed earlier that day, students milling aimlessly around and police officers still in evidence.

"...Was the scene of tragedy today after what seems to have begun as a fight turned deadly. Student Mitchell Curtis was discovered in a bathroom, apparently the victim of a stabbing."

The school was replaced by a picture of Mitchell, probably taken in relation to some school activity. He was wearing the Park County High colours, hair neatly brushed and slicked down, several hundred dollars of orthodontics displayed in a dazzling smile. Pip felt the colour leaving his face, remembering leaning in to lick at the blood drizzling from that mouth, Mitchell's pleading moans, his sick, scared eyes. He felt something rise in his throat and unsure whether it was vomit or a scream, tore his eyes from the set.

Damien was watching him.

The scream – Pip was almost certain it had been a scream – died before it could leave his mouth. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and sucked in another, almost hyperventilating. Damien was gauging his reaction and he wasn't going to embarrass himself by having girlish hysterics because of some year book picture. Even if he tried to explain the ghoulish intimacy of stealing the blood from Mitchell's face, Damien wouldn't understand what was so terrible about it.

Still breathing too heavily, Pip found his eyes involuntarily flickering down to Damien's mouth, wondering if he had ever done something so gruesome. He had after all come from the same place as Asmodeus Then he remembered that Damien was watching him and turned back to the television, hoping that the look hadn't been seen and misinterpreted. Although why he was worried about _that_ at a time like this, he didn't know.

"Mitchell was in his final year of the school, described by friends as being popular, outgoing and fun-loving..."

"Bullshit," interjected Kenny loudly.

Pip said nothing. His glance at Damien's mouth had brought on images of those lips parting and his tongue tracing the lips of another – without the blood. Vaguely, Pip wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such treatment and as soon as he realised what he was thinking, forced the pictures out of his mind in horror. How could he even _consider_ something like that when it had been brought about by the horrible events of the day?

"...teacher described it as 'a terrible, terrible loss and a tragic day for Park County High'..."

Trying to curl himself even tighter, Pip wondered miserably if he hadn't just lost his mind, if Asmodeus had infected him with its sickness and he could never think straight again.

But those images kept wanting to intrude on his mind and he could _feel _the weight of Damien's stare upon him.

"Several students claim to have seen Mitchell arguing with immigrant student Phillip Pirrup outside the bathroom where the boys body was discovered..."

Pip widened his eyes as his own face filled the screen. Another school photograph, showing him smiling shyly, face ducked slightly, long hair tied back. Pip had never hated that picture more so than he did at that moment. Compared to Mitchell's easy grin, Pip's picture made him look painfully awkward, almost secretive.

"Although Pirrup's involvement with the incident are unconfirmed, he has been confirmed as the perpetrator of a later car-jacking, in which two people were killed. A bladed implement was used in the car-jacking, which has added to speculation that Pirrup was responsible for Mitchell's murder..."

"Pip?"

Damien's voice was sharp, but Pip didn't look at him, barely even heard him, having almost pushed the memory of the car-jacking to the back of his mind and being confronted with it once again.

_It saw the car pulling up at the side of the road and opened the drivers door before the engine was switched off. The driver, a grey-haired man in his late fifties, looked up, startled by the action._

_The Stanley knife was in its other hand._

_Raising Pip's arm, it drove the blade of the knife into the drivers eye. With a wail, the driver raised his hand to his face and it pulled the knife back, jamming it this time into the trachea._

"_Hey!"_

_It turned to see a second man running at it, this one younger but soft-looking, wearing some kind of uniform. Standing its ground, it ignored the gasps of the dying man, allowing the new threat to almost reach it and then quickly stepping aside, placing a hand on his back and allowing his momentum and its own force to ram the newcomer into the side of the car. Then he grabbed the man's head and twisted sharply, hearing the crack and letting the corpse fall to the floor. Grabbing the driver, it retrieved the knife from the drivers throat and lowered the blade, putting it in Pip's pocket before pulling the dying man from the car and ditching him beside the other victim, getting calmly behind the wheel._

_Someone ran after the car, getting a hand on the bumper before it stepped on the gas and drove away..._

"Pip!"

Shaking violently, Pip looked up at Damien, who was watching him with something close to concern. Probably wondering if he was going to start screaming or crying and debating the wisdom of bringing him along.

And yet, Damien didn't seem as irritated by his acts as perhaps he should have been.

"I'm fine," said Pip through numb lips. "I'm f-fine, just fine, it's alright, I'll be j-just fine, I'm fine, I, I'm alright..."

For a moment, Pip thought Damien was going to move – to do what, he had no idea – but it was Kenny who got up, dropping snacks across the carpet as he dropped heavily between Damien and Pip and pulled Pip into his arms, giving some comfort. Pip let Kenny mutter soothing, meaningless words, resting his head briefly on Kenny's shoulder with his eyes closed, trying to regain his composure.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see Damien over Kenny's shoulder. Damien wasn't looking at Pip though; his eyes were on Kenny's back.

He looked _furious_.

Suddenly afraid of just what that look meant – Damien clearly didn't approve of Kenny babying Pip through his breakdown – Pip pulled out of Kenny's embrace and tried to get a hold of himself. He couldn't afford to break down, not now. He had to keep his composure.

But his head was filled with blood-stained memories, alien thoughts on the enjoyment of pain and suffering, the cold certainty that nothing would ever be alright again. His head hurting, his heart aching, his skin burning under the gaze of red eyes. And he was sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself together for much longer.

Kenny seemed to understand, because his eyes, the only part of his face that really showed beneath the hood and almost exactly the same shade of blue as Pip's, were narrowed in concern. Pip suddenly remembered one of Kenny's school deaths, when the boys sickness had gone unnoticed by everyone until he had vomited across his desk and slumped over, the victim of a four-day drinking binge that his kidneys had failed to cope with. For the first time, Pip could understand why chasing temporary oblivion without caring if it led to the more permanent kind might be an attractive prospect.

"I'll be okay," murmured Pip, quietly enough so that only Kenny would hear him.

Frowning, Kenny seemed to think about something, then stood. "I'll be right back." He left the room and Pip blinked, wondering what he was doing, before dismissing the thought. He was too weary to even care if Kenny had gone to the phone to turn him in to the cops.

Damien's attention was back on the television, far more intently this time than when Pip had been the sole focus of the segment. Glancing over at the screen, Pip immediately realised why.

"...Arrested earlier today after an explosion at a gas station in which a worker lost his life. Forty-nine year old Ronaldson ran from police, who were answering reports of a suspect in another case in the vicinity. Arson is thought to be the probable cause of the fire, although reports are yet to be confirmed. Ronaldson resisted arrest and was captured after injuring several officers. He remains in custody..."

_Poor chap_, thought Pip, knowing that under other circumstances, he would also be under arrest. Had Asmodeus already abandoned his new host, leaving the man in much the same state as he himself was, confused, sickened and ashamed? Or was the demon still within him, taunting those who questioned his actions, getting the innocent victim in even further trouble?

And when the demon did jump host, who would it pick?

That thought concerned Pip more than he would dream of letting on to Damien. If Asmondius craved revenge, power and chaos, then there were worse hosts than someone who held a position of authority. A police officer for example, who could walk out of the station at any time he wished and abuse his power in ways rarely considered by the corrupt but unimaginative people that comprised the force.

But if Damien said the demon had remained in the police station, then Pip had every faith that was where it was. Hiding from its hunters in the relative safety of the mortal authorities. Smart. But it would have to break cover sooner or later and then, the four of them would be chasing it. Pip wanted it returned to Hell, not for reasons of vengeance, although he had to admit to himself that it would give him some small measure of satisfaction, but because otherwise it would hurt other people. The way it had hurt Mitchell. The way it had hurt _him_.

He glanced sideways at Damien again. His motives for chasing the demon were clear – he'd been ordered to by Satan – but why had he allowed them to stop long enough to rest? The demon was in one place and it wasn't as if Damien would have to worry about being stopped by the police, not with the satanic powers at his disposal. Most likely, he was trying not to draw attention to the demons presence on Earth. After all, he had said it was to be returned before anyone else in Hell knew it had been able to escape.

Damien looked back at him and Pip averted his eyes quickly, grateful when Kenny re-entered the room.

"There's four bedrooms upstairs," said Kenny without preamble, grabbing Pip's wrist and pulling him to his feet. "You get the one furthest from the bathroom, so you don't get disturbed in the night. Come on."

"_Kenny."_

Damien's voice had taken on an unmistakably warning tone and Kenny paused, glancing back at the Antichrist. "What?"

"Don't."

There was a pause as Damien glared, some unspoken communication going on between the two. Pip bit his lip nervously, having no idea of what was happening. Damien seemed to want to say something, but was rejecting the words as they occurred. Christophe, still standing behind the couch, looked equally blank.

"Ooooh," said Kenny eventually, picking up on something in Damien's expression. "No, I wasn't gonna. Pip needs a long sleep to get over this and here's better than the car. And a wash. And a change of clothes. No offence Pip, but you're a bit, uh, messy. It'll make him feel better."

Kenny dragged Pip out of the room, pausing briefly to put his head around the door and address Damien again. "You've given me ideas now..."

Chuckling at Damien's growl, he continued and Pip followed him up the stairs, feeling the weight of Damien's stare on his back until the moment they left the room, their memory lingering on his skin as soon as they were out of sight.

"Room," announced Kenny, throwing open a door and indicating vaguely within. "I dunno about pants, but everyone's got a couple of plain T-shirts and you can use them if there's nothing else."

"I wouldn't feel right about taking..."

"Oh, lighten up." Kenny's voice was mild, but there was something in his eyes that Pip wasn't sure he understood. Lingering confusion certainly and something more, hurt he would have guessed, if there had been any reason for Kenny to feel that way. "The people that live here can afford to lose a couple of lousy shirts and some snacks. Don't sweat it. They've got plenty more than you and me."

Pip nodded in agreement, deciding it was simpler than arguing and there was some logic there. He definitely wouldn't mind ridding himself of his blood-splattered clothes. And he got the feeling there was something else going on, something he was missing.

"Bathroom's over here," said Kenny, walking over and shoving the door slightly open. "Water's gonna be cold, but it's better than nothing."

"Right-o." Pip looked down. "Thank you for all this Kenny, but ah, would you mind if I spent some time on my own?"

"Sure thing," replied Kenny with unnecessarily good humour. "Holler if you need anything."

He clattered back down the stairs, leaving Pip alone and heading back into the living room, where Damien was still watching television and Christophe had finally decided to let his guard down, sitting on one of the chairs with a cigarette in his mouth. The seat right in front of the drinks cabinet, noted Kenny with some amusement, where the man of the house probably sat while the little woman and the assorted brats watched the tube.

"How's he doing?" asked Damien casually.

Anyone else might have missed the look that passed across Kenny's mostly hidden face, but Christophe spotted it before it was gone. The mercenary frowned.

"Trying to pretend he isn't freaking," replied Kenny amicably. "Doing that whole 'stiff upper lip' thing that the British are always going on about."

"I've never actually met a British person who uses that expression," commented Damien.

"Whatever. By the time you meet them, they're way past pretending everything's gonna work out okay. Leave him to have a cry and sleep it off, he'll be a bit less shell-shocked after that."

Damien looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Uh-huh."

Christophe watched them through slightly narrowed eyes, getting the feeling there was a whole other subtext to the conversation that he was missing. Abruptly, he got up, deciding to let them have their little talk without resorting to code.

Finding himself in the kitchen, he closed the door quietly and pulled out his phone, making a quick call to explain his non-appearance at home, speaking in hushed, hurried French which he was sure that neither Pip nor Kenny would understand. And Damien was unlikely to care. Finishing the call, he considered calling his mother as well, but decided against it. She'd have plenty to shout about the next time he showed his face and he didn't need to add a lecture to his current list of woes. Instead, he made himself a glass of water, stifling a yawn as he took out his cigarettes and lit one, finding a plate as a makeshift ashtray. If they were going to be chasing demons at any time soon, he would need at least a combat nap.

As if reading his thoughts, Kenny wandered into the kitchen and snagged a cigarette from the still-open packet that Christophe had left on the table. "If you wanna crash, go for it. I'm gonna be up for a while. Horror movie marathon."

Christophe nodded. "And Damien said 'e doesn't need to sleep at all."

Kenny shot him a glance that was both amused and sad. "You don't want to trust Damien with your well being. I can stay up. If I were you, I'd go for the first door on the right, next to the bathroom. Looks like the parents room."

"Uh, _oui_, okay," said Christophe, mildly puzzled but leaving the subject. He did however remember to grab his cigarettes before he went up. He had no doubt that Kenny would steal the entire packet otherwise.

Passing the living room, he noticed that Damien was nowhere in sight.


	9. Temptations Heat

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Bexi, KittyBePraised, Bethany C. MacKenzie and Hayze-Chan for the reviews! As ever, they're very welcome and I'm always glad to know that people are enjoying reading.

Okay, warnings. Posting this chapter scares me, I feel like I'm gonna be hunted down by torch-weilding mobs with pitchforks. It contains _very_ dubious content, which is likely to freak out the sensitive, it's pretty dark and probably unsettling. And I've never written anything in this vein for SP before, so letting me know how it went is always appreciated.

Now I'm throwing down the chapter and _running for my life_! You can find me in the corner, twitching and screaming and drinking coffee.

**&*&*&*&*&**

_Temptations heat beats like a drum deep in your veins._

**&*&*&*&*&**

Pip studied himself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet above the sink. His eyes were dark, shadows etched beneath them. They spoke of a weariness he had never seen in them before; in spite of everything that had happened in his life, he had always fought to keep his optimism. Everything else could be taken from him, but his faith in the future couldn't be, it just couldn't.

Until now.

He took off his shirt and ditched it on the floor, disregarding the urge to hang it over the rail or put it in the hamper, it wasn't his house and the nasty, bloodied thing was fine where it was. Once they had left, it could stay for all he cared, when the family who lived here returned they might find it and know he had been here, but by that time, whatever was going to happen to him would have happened already. All its discovery would do would be to fill in the gaps for a hundred true-crime authors.

Running the hot water tap until it was almost warm – the hot water had been turned off apparently and it was as best as he was going to get – he found a cloth and began to scrub the dried blood stains from his torso. He rubbed hard at his skin until it flushed red and tender, protesting at the pressure and still he didn't stop, working at his arms and then his hands, making sure every last mark was gone, literally if not figuratively.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, there would always be blood on his hands, the blood of the people who had been unlucky enough to cross his path from the previous morning until this moment. In his own mind, his guilt was equally undoubted. He should have been strong enough to fight, there should have been something – _anything_ – he could have done to stop the creature that had inhabited his mind. He should have killed himself instead of letting others die. But he hadn't been strong enough, and his failure had brought only destruction.

There was a comb in the cabinet, the kind used to detect head lice. He took it and managed to pull it through his own hair, for once glad of its fineness. It wasn't as long as he sometimes let it get, too soon since he had been held down on the changing room floor and given a forcible haircut by several of his fellow students, but it still spilled past his shoulder blades. He could still hear their voices in his head, _faggot _and _girl_ and _freak_, feel the phantom pressure of the knee in the small of his back as he was pinned down, the hand between his shoulders. And his own half-cheery response, _I was due for a trim, eh chaps?_

Frowning, forcing back tears of weariness and self-loathing, he examined his hands. They seemed clean, all blood gone from even under his fingernails. Just to be sure, he dunked them in the sink again and had the image of an insane Lady MacBeth, a shrieking, deranged harridan repeatedly washing the stains only she was aware of, muttering, _out damn spot_, until there truly _was_ blood all over her hands, from the wounds where she had worn the skin away.

Shuddering, he pulled his hands from the water and removed the plug from the drain. Leaning on its sides, he watched the pink-tinged liquid swirl down the drain. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but he was heartsick enough already; he was being pursued by every officer in the state, due to the irrefutable proof that he had committed an especially nasty murder as well as a few opportunistic killings, and the only people between him and them were a mercenary, a kid who wouldn't stay dead and the Antichrist. It would be laughable if it wasn't so completely fucked up.

He looked into the mirror again and met the eyes of someone who had done unspeakable things. Someone whom he deservedly hated.

Willing himself not to fall apart, he turned and left the room, shutting off the light and heading into the room he had been designated earlier, probably the property of a scruffy teenager with a penchant for gloom. The walls were a darkish grey, the furniture black ash, the curtains and the quilt on the double bed black and grey. There were no posters, but there was a large TV, a DVD player and a stereo with oversized speakers. Flicking on the lamp on the dresser, Pip wondered what it might have been like to grow up in a place like this. He had always been a light sleeper at the orphanage, sharing a room with two other boys and with their snores and bedfarts, or occasionally being pissed on, deep sleep had been out of the question. He didn't think he would be getting much sleep here either, in spite of the apparent comfort.

The moment he turned, he was aware of a shadowy figure advancing on him at speed and had barely time to take a breath before he was grabbed and thrown forcibly onto the bed. He landed on his back and a second later, his wrists were in a tight grip, pinned to his sides. Someone straddled his pelvis, their weight enough to pin him in place but not enough to hurt. He stared up, his vision adjusting to see a pair of red and black eyes looking into his own.

"Damien?"

The Antichrist merely stared back at him, not relaxing his grip, leaning over Pip so that he could feel the heat of the breath on his face. Damien's mouth was curled into a half-smile, not quite a smirk, but intense determination radiated from his eyes.

_Ah_, thought Pip resignedly. He should have known there would be some payment due for the rescue and it looked like Damien planned to collect.

But – that seemed terribly _crass_ for Damien. No, more likely the other had seen Pip giving him those looks, the small glances whenever he thought the brunette wouldn't notice, and had thought them some kind of invitation. In which case, he would just have to say _no_ and the whole misunderstanding would be behind them, forgotten about.

But looking up into those burning eyes made all the moisture in his mouth dry up and he wasn't sure he could get the words out.

Damien didn't let him go, didn't move, didn't speak. Merely stared and waited for Pip to do something.

"Damien..." Pip strove to sound calm and perhaps slightly amused by the situation – a prank, how droll – but he could hear the thin thread of pleading in the words. "Please. Let me get up."

In response, Damien leant further towards Pip's face, inching slowly closer. Pip had time to realise he had never been this close to another person _ever_, wonder what on earth he was going to say next to get himself out of this. Then he felt Damien's breath against his lips and clamped them shut. If he tried to talk, he might give some encouragement and he _shouldn't_.

Closing his eyes, Pip felt Damien's hair tickling his face as the boys lips grazed his own so briefly he wondered if he had imagined it, then trailed them across his jaw. They were warm. His body was cold where it was exposed to the air, but the hands on his wrists, the weight sitting on him, the skin that barely touched his, they were _warm_. He supposed he had realised, but he had never truly experienced it before.

His body responded to the touch and Pip tried to fight the feeling away, to slow down his heartbeat, to force his ragged breathing back to normal. He couldn't do it. They were barely in contact and it still felt too good.

And then Damien's mouth found the curve of his shoulder and bit down.

Pip stifled a cry with practised ease, his eyes flying open. _Shit_, and he had just been letting his guard down. More fool him. Every time he did, pain happened.

Damien leant up and looked back into his face, the teasing smile gone, leaving behind confusion and anger. Pip didn't understand the look, but he knew that it wasn't good to have the boy pissed off with him.

"Damien, please, I – I'll look silly when the others see me, you can all tease me about the lovebite, that's a – a good joke, but could you please get off me?"

There was no change in Damien's expression, but Pip saw his eyes darkening and tensed further, wondering how he had managed to make things somehow _worse_. The grip on his wrists tightened almost imperceptibly and then Damien growled, _"Make me."_

Pip hesitated. He hadn't physically struggled against the grip, not wanting to get Damien any more angry than he already seemed to be. He had ceased fighting back against aggressors years before, learning that the beatings were over with faster when he offered no resistance, that using his hands to protect himself was better than using them to retaliate. And this was _Damien_, who wasn't even human. How was he supposed to make him do _anything_?

Damien's red eyes bored holes into him and Pip tried tentatively shifting his arms away from the other boy, finding his small movements futile. His neck burned where Damien had bitten it. A cheerful voice sounded in his head, one that sounded far too much like Asmodeus; _Well, you've already been mind-raped by one demon today. Looks like you're about to be raped in a far more literal way by another._

He tried to pull back, the bed pressing into his spine and preventing the action. Biting his lip, he tried not to rage against the _injustice_ of it all. If Damien had approached him differently, he might have been afraid, but he wouldn't have turned him away either. He had been full of conflicting emotions about Damien, but no matter how hard he fought against it, _lust_ had kept rising to the surface. If Damien had cajoled him, bargained, tempted, he would no doubt have given in willingly. But he _needed_ that much, some emotion that wasn't fear – _and Damien knew that_. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was a lie.

And his body was _still_ betraying him, giving every sign of enjoyment in spite of his lack of it.

Damien's brows drew together into a scowl at the pathetic attempts at escape and he slid his body further down Pip's, not letting his grip on the blondes wrists falter. Pip inhaled sharply as their groins came into contact, his words coming out in a shaky rush. "Please, Damien, I don't – I _can't_..."

"You _can't_." Damien's voice was soft and mocking. He buried his head into the curve of his shoulder again and Pip braced himself, expecting another bite in the same spot, abusing his skin still further. Instead, Damien's tongue lapped at the wound and Pip wondered if he were bleeding, if it was all some weird feeding ritual and he'd completely misunderstood the intent. He shivered slightly as Damien moved his head again, cold air freezing against the wet injury.

"You can't _what_?"

Damien ground himself lightly against Pip and the blonde gasped, arching his head back, at the same time telling himself that he _wasn't_ encouraging Damien, he _wasn't_. Damien's lips traced a path down his naked chest, finding one of Pip's nipples and fastening his teeth on it, not biting down but making sure the other boy knew it was an option, pausing there for long seconds before letting go to speak.

"You can't _stop me?_ Is _that_ what you're saying?"

"I..." Pip wasn't sure _what_ he had been saying, only that he had to think of something else and his brain seemed to have stopped working properly, his thoughts lost in a cloud of shamed arousal and panic.

"You can't _fight_? You'd just accept _anything_?"

"_No!_ I – Damien, we can forget it, just _please_ let me _go_!"

Damien growled, taking the nipple back into his mouth and sucking hard enough to be painful. Pip turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched but still not trying to break the hold on his wrists.

"_Look at me."_

Obediently, Pip opened his eyes and turned his head. Damien was leaning over him again, his expression dark and unhappy, chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

"You – you're like – _fuck_, I don't even know _what_ you're like! Didn't that _hurt_? Aren't you _pissed_?"

Pip tried a tentative smile, although it _had_ hurt, trying to ignore the turmoil he felt. He didn't understand what was going on any more. One moment Damien seemed ready to molest him in spite of his protests, the next he was acting as if _Pip _had done something wrong. "It's okay, no harm done. If you could let me go...?"

"_Fuck!"_ Damien pushed Pip's wrists as far into the mattress as he could, shifting his weight so that suddenly he was pressing far more heavily against Pip than he had been. Reflexively, Pip tried to pull away, but the movement barely registered.

"I _hurt_ you, I _trapped_ you, I _attacked_ you and all you can say is _no harm done_? What is fucking _wrong_ with you? Why don't you get mad? Why don't you ever _fight back_?"

Pip had subdued his worry about being raped – whatever he had done seemed to have stopped Damien in his tracks – but now the man seemed furious enough to do him a different kind of harm, the kind that involved beating him to a pulp or worse. It was as if he could already feel Damien's hands getting hotter and he struggled to swallow down his panic. "I'm sorry!"

"_No!" _Damien's eyes glowed. "_Don't_ be sorry! Never be fucking _sorry_! _Why_ do you just _take_ the shit that gets thrown at you? Aren't you _angry_?"

"Getting angry doesn't help!"

Pip hadn't realised he had raised his voice until he heard the words aloud, clamping his mouth shut quickly. Damn, but he had to recover himself, start _thinking_ again. But he was still aroused, afraid, his heart beating far too fast for him to calm down. And Damien still pinned him to the bed.

Only his outburst seemed to have roused Damien from his temper, because his mouth slowly curled into a smirk. "Getting angry doesn't help?"

He loosened his grip on Pip's wrists, although he didn't release the hold completely, chuckling darkly as he dropped his head again, taking Pip's unmolested nipple and _gnawing_ at it. Unprepared for it, Pip thrashed in an attempt to get away.

"You'd better be ready to take whatever anyone wants to do to you then," whispered Damien, his breath hot against Pip's chest, leaning heavily against the boy to still him. "This is _nothing_. I can hurt you _much_ worse than this. And you're not fighting. It must be what you want."

"No!"

"If you don't fight back, then you're a punchbag. Or a victim. Or a _host_..."

"_NO!"_

Pip heaved his body upward, pushing at Damien, twisting his wrists and freeing the grip on them. He shoved Damien off, causing the Antichrist to land on his back at the other side of the bed. Pip straddled him in an unconscious reversal of their previous positions, one hand coming to rest on Damien's chest, all his weight against it, the other curling into a fist. For a moment he held the position, breathing heavily, blue eyes wide and filled with fury, hair wild. Damien made no move to defend himself, and after several long moments, Pip dropped the fist, although he didn't make any other move.

"You can't just..." Pip's voice was high and wavering and he took a deep breath before trying again. "You can't just walk in here and do that! You _can't_! You don't just _help yourself_ to me! I'm not a bloody supermarket!"

Damien gave a small snort of laughter. "I noticed."

Pip narrowed his eyes. "What's your game Damien?"

"Are you angry yet?"

Suddenly uncertain, Pip leaned back a little. "Yes, actually. I want to know what you're playing at!"

"Feels good, doesn't it? Like you're _not_ just the victim in this? Like you're _trying_? Like you might actually have some _control _over your own life?"

Pip shoved at Damien's chest, as if there was somewhere for him to fall back to. "What do you expect, eh, _what_? You do _that_ to me and now you're giving me a frigging pep talk? I don't know what the hell you _want_ from me!"

"I _want _you to _do_ something! I _want_ you to stop being so fucking understanding and start thinking about _yourself_, stop trying to see the good in everyone even when there's nothing there to see!"

"I _don't_." Pip's eyes registered dull hurt behind the fading anger. "I don't see any good in _you_. But I didn't expect to. You're just like Asmodeus, only you're finding a different way to fuck with me."

Damien reached up and grabbed Pip's arms by the elbow, his expression changing to mirror Pip's anger. "I'm _nothing_ like it! I just wanted you to show some fucking _emotion _and..."

"You thought you could screw it into me."

Damien shook his head. "Your virgin asshole is safe from me Pip. I don't go anywhere I'm not invited."

"So what – "

"Fuck, I couldn't think of anything _else_! You need to stop smiling when you get punched in the teeth or you're going to _die_ out there. And you'll probably thank the person that does it."

Pip's face went cold. "That was a nasty trick Damien."

"I'm a nasty creature, remember? I'm not going to baby you through some therapeutic bullshit about healthy anger. I did what I know how to do and what I know is fear and intimidation and temptation and sin. You need to start getting mad Pip, you need to start fighting back. Like you did just now."

Pip pulled his arm away from Damien's grip, this time meeting no resistance. "Maybe that's what _you_ know, but that's not what _I_ want. I don't want to be like _them_. I don't want to react to everyone with violence and anger."

"I was trying to _help_," said Damien in frustration, leaning up on his elbows. "I thought – oh fuck it. I'll stick to evil in the future. It's more fucking understandable. _Shit_."

Moving, Pip rolled off Damien and sat on the other side of the bed. "I know you were trying to help."

"Stop it, stop being so fucking understanding, it's what I was trying to stop." Damien looked over at Pip, shaking his head slightly. "I just – I don't get it. How are you protecting yourself with that attitude?"

"Sometimes you just do things for the sake of other people," replied Pip. "Just trying to help, remember?"

"_Shit."_

Pip sighed, suddenly feeling terribly sad. The worst part was that he _did_ understand, now, what Damien had done and why he had thought it was a good idea. To Damien, wrath and retaliation were just another part of a person and he didn't know why Pip didn't see things his way. Even when Damien tried to do something for someone else's benefit, it turned out to be wicked.

Worse, that attempt at protecting another person was something that he doubted many people had seen, if any. Damien had been trying to manipulate his emotions to _protect_ him. Pip didn't know why, probably Damien couldn't give him a good reason either, but it showed that Damien was capable of thinking of someone other than himself. Unless this failure made him determined to never do so again.

Finally, someone cared enough about Pip to look out for him and he turned out to be the Antichrist.

"Pip?"

Glancing back at Damien, Pip saw he hadn't moved but his face was filled with questions and confusion. "How do you get by when you don't react? Why do you even get out of bed when you know some fucker's gonna be after you and you don't even _try_ to defend yourself?"

Pip shrugged. "Because things will change. They always do."

"Change how? What do you even _want_?"

Considering the question, Pip thought of all the things he'd ever really wanted. A place he belonged, people who accepted him, maybe even loved him. And contentment. That was all. Except maybe for human touch.

"The usual things."

"Money and power?"

Damien looked almost disappointed and Pip smiled. "Not quite."

"Then _what_?"

Right then?

Pip knew the things he had wanted were out of his reach now. The rest of his life would be ruled by the things Asmodeus had done while a part of him. If the police found him or if Christophe really was able to get him away, it didn't matter. Those actions would define him forever, even if they weren't his doing.

So what did he really want?

"Contact," he said, voice almost a whisper. "And peace."

Damien reached over and took the blondes arm, pulling him forward. It wasn't rough, like it had been before, but Pip let himself be pulled, falling onto Damien's chest and immediately starting backward, raising himself on his arms and giving a startled, wary look. Damien put a hand on Pip's face, letting himself smile.

"That much I _can_ give you," he murmured and raised his head until his lips brushed against Pip's.

**~:~**

_Control._

Damien had the word in his mind from the moment he entered the darkened bedroom, hearing Pip still in the bathroom. Pip was beating down his anger, hiding it all under a veneer of good humour. If he could get the blonde to lose control of his temper, it would be harder for him to go back to letting others abuse him.

But Damien needed to stay in control, not let things get out of hand.

It had been tough, Pip taking so much longer to break than he had thought that Damien had nearly lost his cool first. But he knew, once the cracks in Pip's cover showed, just how to encourage that anger to overflow.

And when it had, damn. Damien had allowed Pip to push him around but at the moment he had been pinned on his back staring up at the boy, he hadn't been sure he could have moved if he had wanted to. If there were a final Heaven and Hell war and their side were defeated, Damien was sure the last thing he would see before the killing blow struck was an angel that looked just like Pip in those moments; furious, beautiful and utterly wild. He wouldn't mind being wiped from existence if that was his final image.

But it had all gone wrong. Pip had been angry, but somehow, instead of making him feel better, it had been just another thing to hurt him. And it was the understanding that he couldn't fathom that had saved Pip from truly hating him.

Not that he cared if Pip _did_ hate him, he reminded himself. It would just make things more difficult. He thrived on hatred after all.

_Stay in control._

Pip was a mystery. Human behaviour was so very predictable, but he just couldn't work Pip out. He didn't know why he wanted to. All he knew was that his mind was clamouring _I want_ with a volume that drowned out everything else and he'd thought his stunt would push Pip away.

_Contact. And peace._

Damien was unnerved but the _I want_ hadn't gone away and with those words, he knew. He could give Pip what he needed, for one night at least, and just maybe, the _I want_ would go away once he'd had. He just had to stay in control.

But when he brushed his lips against Pip's, hanging on to control suddenly became much more difficult than he had thought.

It was nothing like he thought it would be. In Damien's experience, kissing was either something two people did together just because it was expected, or else it was part of a game, his way of showing who was in charge even before the clothes had come off. And he had always been able to tell in the past that his partner had wanted the action – even if it wasn't expressed, there was something in the eyes. After his attempts at helping, he didn't even know if Pip wanted him near. But Pip leaned into him, into the kiss, mouth parted slightly, tentative, uncertain, inexperienced.

Damien traced his hand across Pip's face, his fingers finding the back of his head and tangling in the mass of blonde hair. He ran his tongue along Pip's lower lip, fighting the urge to force the boys face closer to his, knowing that if he pushed, Pip would back off and there would be no repeat chances. He nudged Pip's mouth open a little wider, slipping his tongue into the boys mouth and tasting the faint traces of cola and caffeine, feeling the texture of his hair spilling over his face, wrapped in his fingers.

And then Pip increased the pressure of the kiss, his own tongue meeting Damien's and caressing it, shifting his weight so that although he was still holding himself up with his arms, his bare chest came into contact with Damien's clothed one. Damien let himself fall back, reminding himself that he had to let Pip determine the pace, even though his _I want _thoughts were back, urging him to just _take_.

_Stay in control._

Damien let the hand not occupied with Pip's hair stroke the boys chest, stilling as he felt Pip's heart beat, rapid against his chest, the muscles twitching beneath his hand. Pip's kisses had gotten surer, but still languid and lazy and searching. Damien had never known what the purpose of kissing was, it had always been an irritating prelude to the main event, but suddenly he could see the attraction. It was promise, desire. It was _good_. He had the uneasy feeling that somehow, Pip was seducing him without even realising it and that couldn't be right, because temptation was _his_ thing – but damn, how could something so innocent and commonplace be clouding his mind?

Letting his control loosen just a little, Damien slipped his hand around Pip's back, tracing the ridges in the boys spine until his fingers rested on the curve of his back, at the same time pressing his leg against Pip's inner thigh, hoping to get the message across without resorting to pressure tactics. He was still concerned about scaring the blonde away.

But Pip took the hint, shifting his body so that his leg rested between Damien's, at the same time breaking the kiss and pulling his head back, eyes unfocused. Damien could relate. He felt unfocused himself. He should have known better, realised that his need to help Pip, to give him what he wanted, should have been a clue that something had gone terribly awry with his thought process. And something was _still_ wrong because he was _still_ holding back, still fighting his nature because he needed Pip to want _him_ too.

Damien didn't know what was happening to him, but it wasn't control of the situation he was fighting for any more, it was control over his own responses.

Pip smiled.

_Keep control!_

A moment later, Pip's mouth found Damien's again and his leg rubbed shyly against Damien's dick, eliciting a moan of total surprise from the brunette. At the same time, Pip shifted his weight onto one arm, his hand finding the buttons of Damien's shirt and slowly unfastening the first one.

With a growl, Damien shifted both his hands to Pip's waist and threw him off, onto his back, keeping his grip and repositioning himself above the blonde, aligning their hips so that their groins pressed together.

_- control - _

Pip's eyes were wide, some fear there but overlaid with other emotions, lust and greed and desire. Distantly, Damien remembered that he was supposed to be holding back, but his mind was screaming _I want_ at him and instead, he ground himself against Pip, slowly and deliberately. Pip tilted his head back and gasped, an involuntary buck of his hips sending a bolt of pleasure through Damien. Pip's hands grasped for Damien's shirt, attempting to work the buttons again, but after only a second or two he gave up and pulled the two halves apart by force. Buttons flew across the room, scattering almost soundlessly and Damien felt a savage joy in the other boys need for him, heat coiling tight in his stomach.

Throwing off the tattered remnants of his shirt, Damien pressed his bare torso to Pip's, their mouths clashing in an urgent, messy kiss before Damien began sucking, biting, licking, kissing at the pale flesh of Pip's neck and chest, whispered obscenities emerging from his lips in the rare seconds they weren't occupied with the boy beneath him, hips grinding shamelessly against Pip's, hearing Pip's harsh gasps as he met the movements with his own, one hand buried in Damien's hair, the other caressing the skin of his arms, his shoulders, his face.

_- gotta keep CONTROL -_

_Shit_, but Pip felt like heat and sweat, he smelled of soap and sex, he tasted like pure energy, he sounded obscene and he looked like an angel fallen to Earth to satisfy all Damien's desires and Damien had _never_ before been so far from control.

Kneeling, breath coming in ragged pants, Damien grabbed the button on Pip's jeans and forced it open, taking impatient care with the zipper, his hand massaging at Pip's erection through the thick fabric.

"D-Damien..."

Damien looked down at Pip, noting the thin sheen of sweat covering him, the way his hands had grabbed the covers, and had to close his eyes against the sight or he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

"I've never..."

"I know," whispered Damien, forcing himself to wait, not to push things, to let Pip decide for himself.

Pip sat up, his hand caressing Damien's face, their foreheads touching. "Don't h-hurt me."

Damien crashed his lips against the blondes, pushing him back down, dragging the boys jeans over his hips and letting him kick them away, but he didn't answer. Any answer he gave would eventually be a lie, if not that night, then at sometime in the future. Because all Damien knew how to do with people was to hurt them.

And then he forgot about the future, about the past and what his purpose in existing was, losing himself in Pip's body, letting go of all thoughts of control.


	10. Lashing Out

**Author Note: **HUGE thanks to Mizuni-no-neko, Hayze-Chan, Akatsuki Feathers, KittyBePraised, Bexi, Bethany C. MacKenzie and lm2k6 for the awesome, confidence-boosting reviews! I admit, I was very worried about posting the last chapter, not so much because of the uh, suggestive situations, but because it was closing in on non-con at one point. But I had no complaints and lots of positive comments, which makes me happy and relieved.

Heh, I'm amused by the irony of posting this chapter after the last weekend, since I got stupidly hammered Friday and mistaken for a tree by a spider monkey on Sunday. I'm sure these things don't happen to normal people. Anyway, the warnings. Mentions of unpleasant bedroom goings on, casual shagging around, drug taking, alcohol abuse and angsty emo-tastic whining. I hope you'll leave a review and let me know what you think of the latest instalment.

Oh! And I have a dA account now, under the name hotmonkeybrain – the link is in muh profile, if you're interested in my random craptastic scribbles (I did check out Tegaki E, but got a bit intimidated, lol). Also, I did the meme of doom again with a different line up – I have far too much fun with that damn thing – and you can check that out on muh profile too.

**&*&*&*&**

_Nothing ever counts, lashing out or breaking down._

**&*&*&*&**

Damien's favourite part of sex had always been the fear.

Mortals were an amusing breed, he often mused to himself. He never lied to them about who and what he was. He never had to. He would tell them the entire truth and their own minds would spin the lie for him, for a while anyway. Some of them thought he was a fake, a poseur, and that suited him just fine. Others believed him, but couldn't fathom exactly what it meant for _them_ and that suited him just fine too.

They always gave themselves willingly. That was part of the fun.

The anxiety was the first thing, mingled with the need in their eyes. Sometimes when they first touched his skin and found it unpleasantly warm, or got close enough to his face to see where the edge of his coloured contact lenses weren't, there were many clues as to what he wasn't. And when he saw the dawning realisation in their eyes, he would give them an inhumanely feral grin, leaving no doubt in their minds and hearts.

And still, they never said no.

Their arms reached for him even as their minds rebelled, opened their bodies while closing their eyes or trying to turn their heads in denial. And he wouldn't allow it, commanding, demanding that they look at him, face up to what they were doing.

"This is what you wanted," he would remind them.

The answer was always _yes_, spoken in sorrow and shame, longing and lust. Perhaps they had feared more what his reaction would be if they denied him, but he always had enough control to walk away if that was their choice, secure in the knowledge that the wasted chance would forever haunt them, make every other encounter they had seem hollow and pointless. He'd never had test that knowledge; they said _yes_ with their mouths, knowing exactly what they were doing, even if a part of their soul begged them _no_.

The sex itself was more of a power play, a violent domination of the other, who would beg for more even through tears or screams. It was rough, it was nasty, it was degrading and it sure as shit wasn't about _them_, although he made damn sure they enjoyed it. It fucked them up better that way, tore away any illusions they had about their own baser natures. And then he left them without lingering, rather enjoying the neediness as they whined, or the revulsion they harboured for both him and themselves. They were debased and without comfort, he was amused by how pathetic they were.

There were only two notable exceptions. The first time, the other had known exactly who and what he was before they got into anything, nor had he been strictly mortal. Damien hadn't especially wanted to scare him and the whole thing had been a meaningless diversion for both of them, leaving Damien mildly disappointed and irritable. It hadn't been _bad_ exactly, merely pointless, with neither participant getting what they wanted from the tryst.

The other had been with Pip and Damien still wasn't sure _what_ exactly had happened there, because although he hadn't wanted to strike terror into the boy, it certainly hadn't been unsatisfying in spite of that. Quite the opposite actually. Damien had never had to struggle so hard just to keep himself in check and even if he had, in the past he would never have bothered. So why was it that this time, he had wanted to keep the darkness from taking over?

Pip slept, curled on his side, buried beneath the covers. Damien watched him impassively, noting the way the sheets moved in time to his soft, deep breathing, how his hair lay in a tangled spread on the pillow. He looked surprisingly peaceful, considering what he'd been doing with the son of Satan in the same bed. Damien glanced down to where he was barely covered with the sheet and chuckled. Awake, Pip was the most selfless person he had ever encountered but asleep, he stole the duvet.

It bothered him slightly that Pip was lying away from him at all. He'd thought that Pip would be the kind who wanted to hug after sex, establish some kind of intimacy. Of course, he would have found a way to get around _that_, anything from a gentle disentanglement to a forcible reminder that he wasn't capable of giving affection and Pip was looking to snuggle with the wrong person. _Demon_. But Pip hadn't even tried, had allowed Damien to pull away and not gone looking for anything more. Damien had the feeling that it was more of that _understanding_ that he resented so much, that Pip knew he wouldn't react well to post-coital fondness and hadn't pushed it. Almost as if it were _Pip _guiding Damien through the experience and not the other way around.

Damien wondered exactly why he was dwelling on the issue. It had made his life easier and he should be grateful for that small mercy at least.

Getting out of bed, he located his pants hanging off the dresser and put them on. His shirt was puddled at the side of the bed and there was no way he was going to be able to wear that again, Pip had done a number on it. Damien grinned slightly, remembering his surprise at the unexpected action, then went to the drawers and found an oversized Iron Maiden shirt, slipping it over his head and leaving the room to find out what the other two were up to. Probably catching up on some sleep, since that had been the purpose behind their stop.

The house was mostly in darkness, the curtains drawn to hide the light coming from the silent television set in the living room. Damien glanced at the screen and smirked – The Omen, how apropos – before his sharp ears picked up a sound outside and he went to the door.

Kenny was sitting on the step, a crumpled pack of cigarettes beside him, one unlit in his mouth. The dull snap of the unresponsive lighter seemed loud in the unusual silence of the pre-dawn morning. Damien sat beside him, unmindful of his bare feet in the snow.

Kenny glanced over at him. "Hey."

"Hey." Damien took one of the cigarettes from the packet and opened his fist, a small ball of fire emerging from the palm. He stuck in the end of the cigarette to light it and after a second, Kenny did likewise. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, blowing smoke out into the air.

"Where's the Mole?" asked Damien eventually.

"Since he's doing most of the driving when we start moving, he's getting some sleep." Kenny looked pointedly at the other boy. "With earplugs in."

"Uh-huh," replied Damien, unashamed.

There was silence again as the pair finished smoking, Damien flicking his cigarette into the distance, Kenny grinding his out beneath his shoe. The tension spun out between them until Damien couldn't take it anymore. Things had already been weird enough tonight. "Just say what you want to say Kenny."

Kenny took the cigarette packet and turned it over in his hands, contemplating, before shrugging and taking another. "You didn't have to do that to Pip. He doesn't deserve it."

"Do what?" snapped Damien, far more sharply than he had intended. "He was about to fall apart. Now he's got it out of his system. Sex makes everyone feel better."

"_Temporarily _better," corrected Kenny. "If you hadn't noticed, Pip's not really the type to take casual fucking, well, casually. You're going to mess him up."

"Yesterday he killed four people while possessed by an evil spirit and you think a little_ sex _is gonna mess him up?"

"That's not the same thing! He didn't get a choice about that and he could get over it, maybe, I don't know. But having red-hot mansex with the Antichrist is something he probably _thinks_ he decided to do for himself and it could, y'know, change him. If he thinks he's damned, then why shouldn't he start acting like there's nothing left for him to be good for? Shit Damien, if you needed a booty call that bad, I wish you'd just come to me."

"So you'd take one for the team?" Damien sneered. "How fucking _noble_ of you."

"I can see sex for what it is," retorted Kenny. "Just sex. Pip doesn't think that way."

"You might be surprised," muttered Damien, thinking of Pip's lack of post-coital affection. "And I didn't trick him into anything. I didn't _ask_ him for anything. Kenny, you're a, um..."

"Friend?"

"Yeah, one of those things. You know I don't have anything to gain from seducing Pip. I don't have a _reason _to lie to you about that. Why would I care what you think? But I _didn't_ plan on doing it. I just wanted to piss him off. I thought..."

Kenny's eyebrows raised so high, they vanished beneath the hood of his parka. "You were trying to piss him off? Why?"

Damien shrugged. "I thought it'd do him some good."

"Did you do it?"

"In the end. I was beginning to think he was un-pissoffable."

"You call him French?"

"Why would I do that?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Easiest, quickest way to piss off Pip. He goes nuts."

"_Shit!"_

Kenny chuckled, regarding Damien curiously. "Why do you care what happens to Pip?"

"I _don't_," said Damien irritably. Kenny just stared at him and Damien sighed. "I don't know. He's not like any of the other mortals I ever met. I don't get much of a chance to meet people who aren't evil or, y'know, corruptible."

"So you thought you'd try corrupting him?"

"No!"

"Okay, okay." Kenny raised his hands, trying to placate Damien, who was starting to get angry. "So, why then?"

Damien shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure he'd get by okay when he's out on his own. What do you call that, when you want to do something that's not going to help you?"

"Compassion? Selflessness? Generosity? Charity?"

Damien glared. "You're not fucking funny Kenny."

"I'm not fucking joking, _Damien_."

"And Pip's not a charity. And I'm not compassionate _or_ generous."

"...Okay?"

"Shit. I hate the mortal world. It's too weird." Damien stood up, turning. "I'm going back to bed."

"I thought you didn't need to sleep?"

"I don't. I'm going anyway."

"Damien." Kenny reached up and grabbed Damien's arm. Damien stopped and glared at him – _no one_ dared to touch him without his express consent – but Kenny didn't let go and Damien decided to let it slide. In a strange way, Kenny _was_ a friend and he'd earned the right.

"I dunno what's going on with you," said Kenny eventually. "But you've gotta start thinking. You're gonna tear that boy apart from the mind out, because it's all you know how to do. And he's gonna let you, because that's all _he_ knows how to do. If you're getting as attached as you seem to be, then maybe you should back away now. I _know_ it's not easy to step back, but this time, maybe you should."

Damien pulled his arm away from Kenny and stomped back into the house, leaving Kenny sat on the step and frowning in confusion. He'd known Damien for a long time thanks to his frequent trips to Hell and he'd _never_ known the Antichrist to behave in such a manner. He knew for sure that Damien didn't care very much about _him_ and until today, he'd always thought their relationship would be the closest thing Damien ever got to showing concern for another person.

"This has been a really fucked-up few days," muttered Kenny to himself, trying to coax the lighter back into working and hoping the Mole wouldn't kill him for stealing the smokes. Then his mind slipped traitorously to the drinks cabinet in the house. Maybe the occupants had left something behind – it was worth a look, right?

Damien had been plenty noisy going into the house, not considering it might be best for the Mole if he didn't wake the mercenary, but as soon as he got near Pip's room, he deliberately quieted his step so as not to disturb the boy. Then he wondered why he had bothered. And why he was going back to the room at all. Wouldn't it be easier just to watch TV until it was time to start moving again?

Instead of going back into the living room to do just that, Damien noiselessly pushed the door open and looked over to the bed. Pip hadn't awoken, but he had rolled over into the heat Damien's body had left when he vacated the bed. The blankets had slipped a little, exposing his pale torso to the waist. Damien let his gaze travel the boy. His hair reflected the lamplight, his lips were parted slightly, still swollen and red from Damien's previous assaults on them. Damien could identify most of the marks on Pip's body as his own handiwork, bites, scratches, but there were others that _didn't_ belong there. Damien's eyes narrowed as he took in the yellowing bruise on his bicep, a second still purple on his forearm, a third barely-there shadow on his ribcage. The sign of someone else touching Pip, not with lust, but with wrath.

They had no _right_.

Silently Damien made his way back over to the bed, removing the shirt and dropping the pants as he did so. Naked, he slipped into the bed beside Pip, nudging the boy so he made room without waking up, muttering something unintelligible as he did so. Lying back on the pillow, Damien put his hands behind his head and contemplated the question that had been bugging him all night; why _hadn't_ Pip tried to touch him after the sex? Damien liked to think he understood mortals pretty well and it had defied his expectations.

After a while, Damien turned on his side and looked over at Pip. The boy was facing him now at least, sleeping deeply. Awkwardly, Damien draped his arm over Pip, so it lay on him like a piece of wood. No. That wasn't right at all. He tried curling his elbow so it at least looked a little more natural, but it was pretty uncomfortable. His other arm was trapped under his own body and beginning to ache. He held his whole body stiffly, wondering why this looked so much easier on his fathers stupid soap operas when he could see nothing to recommend it in real life. Maybe if he manoeuvred Pip's hands around him...? And what the hell _was_ he supposed to do with his other arm anyway?

Pip opened his eyes and looked sleepily up at Damien, who jerked his arms back immediately, as if he'd just had an electric shock.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," said Damien quickly. "Stealing your wallet."

"I only keep my cash _there_ in rare and unfortunate circumstances." Pip pressed a hand to Damien's chest and guided him onto his back, before laying his head on Damien's shoulder and draping an arm over his waist, entwining their legs. "Better?"

"Um..." Damien had to admit it was a lot more comfortable than his previous attempt. He could feel Pip's breath feathering against his skin, Pip's heart beating. But if his body was more comfortable, his mind was far less so. There was something about the position that was almost – protective. Possessive. Intimate. And the least comfortable part was that it didn't feel bad at all.

Pip was almost asleep again and Damien took advantage of the situation, bringing up his free hand to brush his hair aside to better see his face. Pip muttered something against his chest and Damien took his hand away quickly. This... _closeness_ wasn't normal at all, but Damien couldn't think of a way to change it. After a lifetime of getting whatever he wanted, he was appalled to find himself wanting _this_.

He spent some time watching Pip, wondering what it was about the boy that confused him so much and compelled him at the same time. He was attractive, but Damien had sampled attractive people before and had little time for them, finding that those people most conscious of their own beauty were the most easy to ruin. Pip was delicate, but then, all mortals were and Damien only enjoyed delicate things because of the savage pleasure in how easily they could be broken. Maybe it was his spirit – Damien couldn't understand how the boy could have gone through so much and still remain hopeful. Or perhaps it was his nature, the things about him that Damien couldn't even begin to comprehend, that forgiveness, understanding, the genuine desire for the happiness of others. All things alien to him and a part of Pip.

Although Damien barely moved, not wanting to disturb the sleeping boy, at some point a couple of hours later, Pip awoke again and still drowsy, stretched up to capture Damien's mouth with his own. And for the first time ever, Damien let himself be captured, suddenly desperately needing everything – anything – Pip would let him take.

Damien had never been with the same person more than once, had never seen the point. To his mind, the fun was in the hunt, the capture. But as he pulled the other boy closer to him, using his hands to explore rather than subjugate, kissing with a passion that had nothing to do with claiming territory, he began to see the attraction.

It was slower this time, less frenzied but no less needy. Damien gave up all thoughts of keeping control before they even really started, relishing the boys cool body against his own, Pip's head on his shoulder, the soft noises in his ear, the way long blonde hair tickled his chest. And he couldn't imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else, or even trying.

Perhaps what drew him was that Pip knew what he was and it didn't matter to him at all.

Damien submitted to it all, his body and mind saying _yes_, at war with the part of him that was completely fucking terrified.

**~:~**

Christophe scowled as he searched for his cigarettes and found them missing. He was certain that Pip wouldn't have taken them and Damien probably wouldn't have bothered sneaking. Which left only one suspect; Kenny fucking McCormick. How the hell he'd managed to steal them without waking the mercenary was beyond him – the boy had to be a fucking ghost – but he wasn't going to get away with it. He had another packet, but that wasn't the _point_.

Growling, he yanked on the pants he'd discarded when he climbed into bed, grabbed his shovel and stomped down the stairs. Maybe it was a bad time to actually _kill_ Kenny, but that didn't mean he couldn't maim him a little. The television was still on but muted, a reporter mouthing something while the FTSE index was displayed in the background. No one else was around, but strolling into the kitchen, Christophe could see the evidence that someone had made coffee and not made much of an attempt to be tidy about it, leaving milk spilled on the counter and granules scattered across the floor. Putting the shovel aside, he made himself a calming coffee too, deciding it might be advisable to wait until he had been paid before injuring the guy that hired him, even if it _was _Damien who was paying the bill.

Noticing that the back door had been left unlocked, he worked out Kenny's location and smirked. Putting down the coffee and picking up the shovel, he threw the door open and raised the implement above his head, a ferocious look on his face.

Sitting on the doorstep, Kenny turned and his eyes widened in alarm. Throwing his hands up to protect his head, he tried to stand, turn and run at the same time, getting his feet tangled up and falling heavily on his ass on the frozen ground. Unable to hold his expression, Christophe burst out laughing.

"You bastard!" snapped Kenny, picking himself up and glaring.

"You should not 'ave taken my smokes." Christophe spied the packet of cigarettes on the step and picked it up, checking the contents and frowning again. Nearly all gone. _Shit_. There was a half-full cup of coffee on the step too, and an empty glass with some kind of drinks residue within. Christophe doubted very much it was from a glass of water. The theory was confirmed when a sweeping glance of the area revealed a bottle of high-tension whisky poorly hidden in a plant pot, still within reach of anyone sitting on the step.

Fuck.

"Kenny, 'ave you been sitting out 'ere all night getting wasted?"

"Not all night," said Kenny defensively. "I only had a couple. And look, coffee! I'm, y'know, sobering up."

"We are chasing a fucking demon and you think zis is a good time to go on a bender?"

"I wasn't _on_ a bender! I was just having a drink, that's all!"

"Zis is perfect. I 'ave to 'unt for a supernatural being while dragging your fucking drunk ass around."

"I'm not that drunk!"

"You're _shaking_."

"It's cold."

"Not _zat_ cold. Sheet! What the 'ell is wrong with you? You think zis is some _game,_ when we catch ze target and shout 'tag, you're it'? We 'ave to _kill_ it and it will be trying to kill _us_ too, and you can't see straight enough to shoot! You think you can avoid it if you can 'ardly _walk_?"

"I can walk just fine!"

"_Oui_, zat's why you just fell on your ass."

"You attacked me with a fucking _shovel_!"

Christophe took a cigarette, jamming it in his mouth and flicking the lighter with far too much force. He paused long enough to take a drag and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I 'eard all zat sheet around town, about you and your fucking bad 'abits, your fucking drugs and booze, but I _thought_ you'd be able to leave zem alone for _five fucking minutes_ while we did zis! _Merde_! Zis is ridiculous! You can't come with us in zis condition!"

"Wait, what? I'm not in a condition! What do you mean?"

"I'm telling Damien zat we'll 'ave to leave you 'ere."

"_What?"_

"You're going to fuck zis whole thing up. What can you do like zat? All you'll do is get yourself killed."

"I _always_ get killed! _Fuck_!"

"Not zis time." Christophe clamped the cigarette between his lips, unsurprised to find that it wasn't doing much to calm him down. "Zis time, you stay behind. I 'ave no desire to sit in ze car and breathe your stale whisky fumes and zen watch you get ripped apart because you're too fucking wasted to move your stupid ass. When Damien finishes with 'is new chew toy, I'll tell 'im zere 'as been a change of plan."

"No!" Kenny looked at Christophe through wide, pleading eyes. "You _can't_. He'll know... he'll _know_ and then he'll make my fucking next death really miserable and if I have to spend all my time fucking _dead_ only not dead _enough_, then shouldn't I get some peace and not _him_ tormenting me? You can't do that to me! You can't! You'll completely fuck up my life – uh, death – oh _fuck_, I don't even _know_."

Shaking his head, not understanding what the hell Kenny might be talking about, Christophe went back into the house and retrieving the coffee he hadn't yet drunk, took it outside. Kenny was still standing in the same place and Christophe offered him the coffee, pointing at the step. Kenny took the coffee and sat, taking a sip.

"If you're 'oping Damien won't notice you're drunk, you are fooling yourself," he snapped. "What makes you think 'e will even care?"

Kenny shrugged, staring into the coffee cup as if it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe. "We had a thing."

Christophe blinked. "Huh? You and 'im are...?"

"No. We _did_ have, sort of. I thought, there must be some reason I kept dying and coming back to life all the time, but I couldn't work out what it was. But then I got to thinking, like, what if it was because of _him_? So that we could like, be together between times or something?"

"Let me get zis straight." Christophe rubbed his forehead wearily. "You think zat because you die all ze time, it is a sign from God zat you are destined to be ze Antichrist's concubine? And 'ow much 'ad you 'ad to drink when you decided zis?"

Kenny snorted. "Quite a bit. And I'd just discovered E too, I dunno if you know, but it makes you feel kinda – affectionate."

"Obviously."

"Can I have another cigarette?"

"You owe me for zis." Christophe offered the packet and took one for himself. Only one left. It was a good thing he had that other packet upstairs. "So, you got drunk and 'igh, zen died and 'ad a 'thing' with Damien. So, what, you're jealous?"

Kenny almost choked on a lungful of smoke. "No! It wasn't like that – I mean, we did, but y'know – it wasn't right. We weren't into it."

"Spare me ze details." Christophe blew a smoke ring into the air. "You're not jealous zen. So why 'ave you felt ze urge to drown your sorrows?"

"I was..." Kenny shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I thought maybe it'd be different in the future. It'd come together after we both whored around enough or something. Only Damien's acting _really_ weird, and it's all because of _Pip_. He never got like that around _me_. And _that_ means he's not the reason I keep on dying and _that_ puts me right back to the fucking beginning! And if he finds out I was drinking over it, he'll rip the shit outta me every time I go to Hell!"

"So, you're upset because ze guy whom you are not attracted to is not your soulmate."

"You don't have to make it sound so fucking trivial!"

"Huh. It _is_ trivial. You 'ave no idea why you are 'ere? Ze rest of ze world 'as the same issue."

"Fuck _you_ Mole." Kenny lurched to his feet, glaring at Christophe. "The rest of the world doesn't flit between life and death! The rest of the world doesn't have their lives ruled by _dying_ before the end of the day! Fuck, I don't –"

"Sit. _Down_."

Kenny hesitated, torn between the urge to stamp away and the fact that Christophe was clearly pissed off and might _make_ him sit back down using none-too-gentle means. After a moment, he decided to sit, resting his head in his hands.

"I don't need a fucking lecture right now Christophe."

"I'm sure you 'ave 'eard it all before." Christophe flicked his cigarette end onto the ground, not looking at Kenny. "I 'ave died too and returned to life."

"Wow, you died once. You get a medal for that?"

"Shut ze fuck up. After I came back, zere were many times I wondered why. But zen, whenever something good 'appened I thought, I would 'ave missed doing zat if I 'ad remained dead. I would not 'ave got laid, I would not 'ave 'ad some of ze times I 'ave 'ad since zen. True, zere are thirteen other people who might still be alive if I 'ad stayed dead, but zey were not good people and zere extermination 'as 'elped others."

"So?"

"So, life is shitty and maybe zere _is_ no point to it, other zen to give God a good fucking laugh at our misery. Zat is a good reason not to spend what little zere is of it making yourself more miserable." Christophe stood up. "Get in ze 'ouse."

Standing up again, feeling slightly dizzy and tired, Kenny dragged himself inside, letting Christophe propel him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Once there, Christophe glanced at him. "Strip."

"Huh?" Kenny tried to make sense of the command. "Don't you want to go to the bedroom for that?"

Christophe stared at him. "You are fucking unbelievable. I 'ave never 'ad to take advantage of a person while drunk and I'm not starting now. You're not using me as another excuse to 'ate yourself. You are 'aving a shower. Ze booze is coming through your pores and you stink."

"The water's cold!"

"In your case, I'd say cold is best."

Kenny unzipped his parka, dropping it to the floor and pulling his thin white T-shirt over his head. "And I don't hate myself."

"_Non_? I would 'ate to see 'ow you behaved if you did." Christophe reached over and turned the shower on. "And use one of zose toothbrushes as well."

"Sick dude! I don't know _whose_ mouth they've been in!"

"I don't care." Christophe snagged Kenny's parka and shirt, indicating for him to hurry up and drop his jeans. "Sheet, did you take a bath in zat stuff?"

"I kinda spilled some."

"Fuck. Don't fall and crack your stupid fucking head open in zere."

Christophe exited the bathroom, wondering if there was some way to fumigate the clothes and exactly when his job description had widened to include nursemaid to a fucked-up moron. Shit. He was getting too old for this.


	11. It Was About This Point

**Author Note: **As always, my thanks and hugs go out to all my reviewers; Hayze-Chan, Mizuni-no-neko, hikaru h, KittyBePraised, Bethany C. MacKenzie and MercuryLion. Much love to all of you and I hope you like this chapter too!

I just got Season 11 on DVD – it came out a few days ago and for some reason, I thought it wasn't out until August, so I'm stupidly happy. Although repeated viewing of La Petit Tourette has made me overuse the phrase, "I would be _so happy_," and the word "Cock."

Um, long chapter is long. There was no good place to break it into two, plus I was aware that if I did it would bugger up my pre-planned chapter count (because stories about _eeevil_ need thirteen chapters, obviously). So yeah, get yourself a coffee and a biccie, because you're gonna be here a while. Long chapter is also later than I had anticipated, because this is the one chapter I hadn't already written most of before I started posting and had to spend a lot longer on it as a result. Sorry 'bout that. Quick fact that I forgot to mention in the last lot of notes, the quote for C10 was supposed to be _You're born of a jackal, you're beautiful_ – it wasn't until I was about to post that I remembered I'd already specifically disclaimed the jackal. Ooopsie.

**~:~**

_It was at about this point that I realised I was fucked._

**~:~**

Christophe dealt with Kenny as efficiently as he could, searching the bedroom for a pair of jeans that might fit the boy and managing a compromise, a pair long enough but probably too wide in the waist for his scrawny ass. There was a belt advertising a love of Country and Western music in one of the drawers – Kenny would probably have a fit, but tough luck – and some decent quality long-sleeved tops that were more appropriate for the weather than the shitty shirt he had been wearing before. The parka was probably non-negotiable, so Christophe sprayed it liberally with deodorant, grimacing slightly. Still, that smell would be preferable to stale alcohol.

When Kenny emerged from the shower, he seemed slightly clearer, although his eyes were filled with drunk-defiance; _I don't need you telling me what to do, I'm only listening to you because it's what I was gonna do anyway._ Christophe didn't really give a shit about death glares. With only a towel wrapped around his waist, Kenny's body was clearly displayed and the Mole took casual note of his extreme skinniness, the goosebumps raised on his pale skin from the cold of the shower. He looked tired and pitiful and somehow younger without the hood covering most of his face, with the exception of those angry, hurt glares. Christophe indicated to the clothes, turning his back while Kenny got dressed, then hustling the boy down the stairs and into the car.

By the time Damien appeared downstairs, Kenny was asleep in the back seat, dosed up on paracetamol and orange juice. Christophe was sitting at the kitchen table, irritably smoking his way through the second packet of cigarettes, wishing he got more normal assignments. He glanced up when Damien walked into the room.

"Are you two ready?"

"Good morning to you too," said Damien. "Pip's just going to be a moment. Where's Kenny?"

"In ze car already," replied Christophe, not elaborating. Too much information was usually a good indication of a lie.

"Uh-huh," said Damien. "So, how drunk did he get?"

Christophe looked up sharply. "Wait, 'ow did you know?"

Damien shrugged nonchalantly. "Did you know Kenny died nine times in the last five years from drinking? Alcohol poisoning, falling over, one time he was trying to puke and passed out face first in a toilet bowl. And I noticed him noticing the liquor cabinet last night. I know what he's like."

"Zen why 'ave you never tried to stop 'im?"

"Why would I? He can look after himself."

"_Oui_, and 'e will not be much 'elp with an 'angover."

"Look, Kenny's just worried about being dragged screaming and kicking into adulthood. He's letting off steam. And if he fucks up today, I'll kill him myself."

Christophe let the subject go, since Damien really didn't seem to understand what the issue was. "Where is ze target?"

"Still in the same place. We should be able to take it down easily enough, once it jumps into someone else and gets out of the cop shop."

Grinding out his cigarette onto a saucer he'd grabbed for that purpose, Christophe nodded. "It can sense you though, and zat will put it on its guard. Perhaps you should stay behind and I will take it down."

"Quick assassination sounds good, but there's one problem. I won't know who it's in exactly until they're in sight. You might get the wrong person."

"So, what? We 'ope zat it stays in one person long enough for you to identify it, zen chase it somewhere and 'ope we can corner it? Zat's a shitty plan."

"We could just blow up the police station. All cops go to Hell anyway."

"Let's call zat plan B. It would 'elp if we knew what range it could sense you from."

A third voice spoke. "I know."

Christophe and Damien looked up at Pip stood at the door, vaguely timid. He'd liberated fresh clothes from the drawers, grey combats and a sweater that were the closest thing he could find to his normal style, and tied his hair was back neatly. "Uh, it was in my mind when it sensed you Damien. So I know when it realised you were there."

Damien smiled, causing Christophe to raise his eyebrows slightly. Damien grinned, he smirked, he sneered, but he didn't smile. "Perfect. What's the range?"

"It noticed something wrong when we got out of the petrol station. But you were already there, so I reckon it didn't sense you arrive. That makes it what, maybe fifty metres?"

"I can hit it from fifty metres," said Damien cheerfully.

"I can shoot it from zat distance before it knows what 'as 'appened," added Christophe. "If we are doing zis low profile, zen a bullet is preferable to a fireball."

"A surer bet too," said Damien, thinking of how much humans ran around when they were set on fire. And it took them a good few minutes to die, giving Asmodeus time to jump hosts. "Fine, we shoot if possible."

Pip looked uncomfortable. "Do we really have to-"

"We really have to." There was a marked lack of irritation in Damien's voice, another surprise, although he didn't sound especially compassionate either. "And..."

Christophe glanced up sharply as Damien trailed off. "What?"

"Time to go," said Damien, all business. "It's in the same place, but it's movements are changing – I dunno, something's different. I think it's getting ready to run."

Christophe stood and strode out of the house, heading for the car. Damien grabbed Pip's wrist and pulled him toward the door.

"Uh, Damien," said Pip anxiously. "Shouldn't we tidy up a little?"

"No time."

"We should leave a note then, at least lock up behind us... _Wait!_"

Damien paused, turning back to face Pip. "Look, the house will be fine. We need to catch Asmodeus, before it does any more damage. That's the most important thing."

"I know." Pip looked downcast, eyes fixed firmly on the logo on Damien's stolen shirt.

Damien reached his hand up with some notion of making Pip look him in the eye, withdrawing at the last moment. They weren't in bed together any more and such gestures were unnecessary. Worse, they created the illusion that there was more between them than there really was. There was _something _between them – _had been _something, Damien hastily corrected himself – but that was over with. Once the demon was returned to Hell, he would be going home and Pip would be forging a new life with a new name and it was unlikely their paths would ever cross again.

The thought should have made Damien pleased – job over with and back to normal, with the promise of greater responsibility and power. Instead, it made him feel oddly sad in a way he couldn't quite comprehend.

"We have to stop it," he mumbled, suddenly not knowing what else to say. He wasn't even sure he was talking about the demon any more. Once he had given his thoughts room in his head, he couldn't seem to think of anything else. He might not see Pip again after he went back, not alive. And there were no guarantees with death. If Pip went to Heaven, then he might not see the blonde again _ever_.

It shouldn't have made him feel as hopeless as it did.

Pip finally looked up and Damien could see his own misgivings reflected back at him. For once, Pip wasn't hiding his feelings behind a mask of good humour, and the increasingly familiar emotions rose up in Damien again. _Mine. I want._

But what he wanted was of no consequence; he already knew how things had to go.

_There's still today,_ he reminded himself with some agitation – he was supposed to be _over_ this, he shouldn't be feeling this wretched. _The demon isn't returned yet and there's still this moment right now..._

Pip opened his mouth to say something, but the words were lost as Damien crushed his lips to the other boys, acting on an impulse he didn't understand. One of his hands was twined in Pip's hair, pulling it from its tie, the other around his waist, pulling their bodies closer. Pip clung to him, meeting the kiss with equal fervour, pressing himself against Damien in a gesture that wasn't so much sexual as it was needy – _more_, the movement said, _I want more_. Damien tried to draw Pip impossibly closer, to take something of the boy with him.

The car horn sounded outside, paused briefly and then sounded again, this blast longer. Reluctantly, Damien broke the kiss, not releasing Pip from the close embrace. Pip was breathing erratically, lips slightly parted and Damien realised he hadn't done the blonde any favours with his actions. The sensible thing to do would have been to continue as if nothing had happened the night before, begin the separation quickly. Painful, but easier. Instead, he had drawn it out and there was still the demon to catch.

Damien didn't know what the hell was happening to him, but the bubble of bitterness and loss that rose when he thought about going back was hard to ignore. He was beginning to feel fractured, like he'd been broken and badly repaired. Worse, he felt abandoned even though Pip was still in his arms.

The horn repeated and Pip pulled away. "We'd better go, before Christophe attracts attention, or has an aneurysm."

"That can be arranged." Damien looked at the door, away from Pip. "Hey, just for shits and giggles, what would you think about letting the demon go? Not bothering to chase it any more?"

"Damien," said Pip firmly. "You can't do that. You have to catch it and..."

"Yeah, I know." Damien walked out of the door, giving Christophe an angry glare as he headed for the car. What else had he expected Pip to say? _Sure, let's let the demon create even more chaos while we sit back and laugh and maybe we can even have some more sex while we do it._ In the same position, it was what _Damien_ would have said, but Pip was different. First and foremost, Pip wanted to do the right thing.

Christophe was in the drivers seat and Kenny was in the back, head resting against the door, totally hidden by his parka. Unmindful of Kenny's delicate state, Damien dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door hard, causing Kenny to jerk blearily upright and look around.

Pip climbed in beside Kenny much more quietly and gave the boy a sympathetic look. "It's fine Kenny, go back to sleep."

"Uh-huh," mumbled Kenny, rearranging himself as comfortably as the limited space allowed and seemingly heading straight back for unconsciousness.

"If he pukes..." Damien let the threat unfinished and turned to look through the windscreen. "Head back to the police station. It's still there, somewhere."

Christophe nodded, starting the car and as an afterthought, turning on the lights. The sky was overcast with the promise of further snow or possibly a storm. The day was gloomy and dark, the sun barely casting any light through the grey clouds.

The streets were busier than they had been the night before, but the people were hurrying about their business without lingering, keeping a careful watch on the weather. Christophe parked opposite the police station, putting the car into neutral and waiting for Damien to give some indication as to what to do next.

Leaning back against the seat, Damien closed his eyes and tried to push all thoughts out of his head to concentrate on the demon. It was moving, but within a limited area, definitely within the confines of the police station judging by the direction and distance. He wished he could sense more than just its presence, perhaps see the host or hear what it was saying, but all he could sense was its demonic essence and blue eyes staring at him.

...Wait, that wasn't Asmodeus. It was Pip, watching him. For a moment he had the urge to turn and meet Pip's eyes, then he caught himself He was _supposed _to be concentrating on the demon, not thinking about the blonde, how he would be leaning forward slightly, arms resting on his knees, waiting for him to say something – and _shit_, he was doing it again.

"It's still in there," he said, hoping no one had noticed the lag and not quite daring to open his eyes, just in case he couldn't resist the urge to turn around and got lost again. "But – wait."

He concentrated on the demon, finally pushing his distractions away and thinking only of Asmodeus. "Its coming out. Over there somewhere."

He opened his eyes and indicated to the side of the police station. Christophe and Pip looked over and saw the riot van emerging from the parking section, conscientiously obeying the traffic laws, no sirens or speed.

"A van." Christophe's voice was filled with disgust. "Zere will be cops in it and it's bulletproof."

Damien glanced over. "I could..."

"_And_ not easy to torch."

"Bet I still could."

"Or we could just follow the van," said Pip mildly. "When it stops, we identify which one is Asmodeus and if we stay in the car, we can escape detection."

Damien glanced back over his shoulder, startled by the contribution. Pip smiled back at him. "It _would _be the quickest way to get things over with."

"Drive-by sniping," mused Christophe. "Zat works. _If_ you can do zat thing you did yesterday so we don't get chased."

"I can do it." Damien smirked. "Go after it, but stay back. We're not gonna lose it and if it's jumped into one of the cops already, it might see us following it. We don't want it to know we're here."

Nodding, Christophe drove off again.

Before long, it became apparent that the van was following the road signs for the courthouse, suggesting that the demon was still manifesting within the original host – Someone Ronaldson, Damien recalled from the previous nights news bulletin. That suited him fine. Let the demon think it'd lost them or that it was safe under the watchful eye of the cops.

Eventually, the van pulled up outside the court house – Damien had been worried that there would be some kind of interior parking with a direct path from within into the court, but it seemed like the town was far too sleepy to need such stringent security precautions, because when they approached, the van was parked right outside.

Christophe pulled into a no-park zone on the opposite side of the road and pulled a handgun out of his pocket, shaking his head ruefully. "If I 'ad known I was going to be assassinating someone, I would 'ave brought something more suited to ze task."

"If you think you can't do it, just say so," said Damien.

"Huh." Christophe checked his bandoleer and found ammunition for the weapon. "Surely you joke."

While they discussed the matter, two police officers got out of the front of the van, their conversation impossible to hear form within the car, but they seemed to be happy enough. They went to the rear of the van and pulled the door open, hustling their prisoner out from within.

"Shit," muttered Damien quietly.

Christophe glanced at him. "What?"

"It jumped. It's in that cop there."

Checking where Damien pointed, Christophe noted that the possessed cop was a shortish Hispanic guy in his early thirties. The other cop, currently helping the handcuffed Ronaldson from the van, was a slightly taller white brunette, who hadn't seemed to notice that anything was amiss.

Ronaldson shrank away from the Hispanic cop, his voice audible even through the tinted windows of the car. "Don't let it near me! He's – he's got something inside him! Please, you have to believe me!"

The white cop seemed to be trying to soothe the prisoner, but his face showed his amusement. Christophe wound the window down wide enough to fit the gun barrel through, positioning himself for easier aim and hoping that Damien was right about the car being off the radar and that Pip was right about the distance Asmodeus could sense the Antichrist from. He was careful but quick, finding the back of the cops neck in his sights.

A man hurried out of the courthouse toward the cops and Christophe paused to readjust his aim. No point in taking down an innocent man, since he wasn't about to get paid for extras.

The Hispanic cop spoke to the new guy, perhaps a clerk or something, the chat still going on when the bullet slammed into the back of his neck at high speed. From the car, it was impossible to see what exactly happened. The Hispanic cop pitched forward, reaching for the man as he fell and only Damien saw the sparks going from the dying man's eyes as the demon jumped.

"_FUCK!"_

He leaned forward, trying to see the scene through Christophe's window. "You were too slow! It jumped!"

"Too slow? Fuck you, it 'as been five seconds!"

"Go for the brain! You have to kill it instantaneously!"

"You could 'ave mentioned zat before!"

The clerk froze for a moment as the demon possessed him, seeming to the casual observer to be shocked at the man fallen dead at his feet. And then he ducked, just in time to avoid a head shot from Christophe.

The white cop turned, his attention on the direction of the bullets, drawing his own weapon.

The clerk snagged the gun from the dead cop and rose, pointing the weapon casually at the white cop and shooting him through the head. Then he opened fire on the car while the prisoner hit the floor, screaming.

Christophe ducked, cursing in French. Damien glanced over his shoulder as the first bullet hit the car, noting that incredibly, Kenny was still out cold. But Pip was frozen, sitting bolt upright, ready to be hit the moment a bullet penetrated the window. And he was sitting on the drivers side, where the shots were landing.

Damien dived into the back seat, landing an accidental but hard kick to Kenny's ribs as he did so, forcibly yanking Pip down to the floor and covering him with his own body.

The kick seemed to rouse Kenny from his snooze. He looked up, sleepy confusion in his eyes. "Hey guys, can you keep it down?"

"Kenny, _sheet_!" Christophe glared as best he could from his own position of taking cover while bullets slammed into the cars body. It was only a matter of time before one did some damage. "Get down!"

Kenny's gaze had already fallen to Damien and Pip, huddled on the floor of the car, and he frowned. "Do you two have to do that now? I'm right next to you... Hey!"

Pip reached up and grabbed Kenny's parka, dragging him to the floor just as a bullet shattered the rear passenger window, the glass flying around their heads.

"Mole!" Damien raised his head as the shots trailed off, the gun apparently running out of ammo. "Get out of here before Pip gets hurt!"

"Oh, _oui, _don't worry about ze rest of us," snapped Christophe sarcastically, risking a look out of his own window. The possessed clerk was on his knees, rifling through the Hispanic cops pockets for the van keys, having already dropped the empty gun and liberated the one that had belonged to the white cop. As the Mole rose to take another shot, the clerk got up and ducked around the side of the van, shielding himself from further bullets.

"Hell no, zis is _not_ fucking 'appening!"

The police van roared into life, Asmodeus apparently deciding it might be a good idea to get the hell out of there. The Mole snarled, sitting himself up in the drivers seat and putting the car in gear.

Kenny raised his head. "You're not serious!"

"I'm going to _'ave _zat fucking asshole!"

"You can't run him off the road, he's in a fucking _armoured car_!"

But the Mole wasn't listening, taking off after the police van as it raced down the street. Whimpering, Kenny hit the floor again. He really didn't need to die right now, but it looked like he wasn't going to have a say in the matter.

There weren't many cars on the road, but the ones that were found themselves forced onto the pavement as the police van screeched down the street (on the correct side) while the Mole gave chase (on the incorrect side). The car wasn't so far off the radar as to be caught in a head-on collision, for which Kenny gave silent thanks.

The Mole drew up alongside the van, his gun at the ready. Since the window was his only shield, he kept it mostly up, sticking the barrel out of the top and squeezing off a shot while trying to keep an eye on the road. It didn't work. The angle was too bad and the van too solidly built.

"Damien! Fucking fireball 'is ass!"

"I thought you said..."

"_Just do it beetch!"_

Damien wasn't used to being ordered around and it was the first time he had ever been called a bitch, but he decided it might not be the time to call the mercenary on it. He climbed back onto the seat, noting the vans positioning and forming a fireball in his hands...

Then he stopped, the fireball fading. He was beginning to feel very strange indeed. His breath began coming in shallow gasps and he had to actively fight the urge to lash out, to hurt whomever got in his way. Something was close, something _bad_... or rather, something the _opposite_ of bad.

"Damien!" Pip climbed onto the seat next to him and grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"That." Kenny pointed out of the window, where they could see the skyline, the rooftops – and the steeple that towered above them.

"Oh, for..." Christophe trailed off as he jerked the steering wheel to take the corner. "Pull it together!"

The church came into view as they rounded the corner and Damien moaned. When he was in Hell he had never been adversely affected by religious symbols, but it seemed that in his mortal form things were different.

Going head to head with the police van, they approached the building and suddenly, Damien couldn't stand it any more He threw himself at the door, clawing at the handle in order to get himself _away_, just leave the vehicle that was pulling him toward the accursed structure and run as far in the other direction as he could.

"_Damien!"_

Pip pulled him back, wrapping his arms around Damien and keeping him in place. Damien shuddered in his grip, but managed to keep himself aware enough not to lash out. He wasn't going to hurt Pip he reminded himself, no matter what was out there.

Damn, but reminding himself of that took all of the little self control he had left.

The police van drifted away from the church – and then veered sharply into their lane, slamming into their car. Christophe clenched the steering wheel and hit the brakes, smoke pouring from the tyres as they went into a skid that carried them almost fifty metres down the road, the car turning 180 degrees and smashing straight through a bottle bank before coming to rest almost on the steps of the church.

The police van drove away as Christophe slammed a fist into the dash. "Fuck! Fuck! _Fuck!_"

Kenny rose from the floor, paying little attention to Damien and Pip, his attention taken by the church they had stopped in front of. "Hey, we can grab supplies here."

"You're having a laugh," said Pip flatly, still holding on to the trembling Damien.

"I'm serious!" Kenny looked back to face Pip and Christophe, who were staring at him with disbelief. "We've not been having much luck with any other weapons and some holy water could come in handy."

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "So, you suggest zat we chase after ze fucking demon with a _water pistol_?"

"No, but – well, I'd rather have it around. It could come in useful and if Damien can sense the demon, then we're not about to lose it."

"And did you even _think_ about Damien?" Pip had never spoken so sharply before to anyone, but the feeling of Damien's forehead buried in his chest was making him feel strangely protective. "If he's this bad when we're near a church, then he's not going to respond well to having holy water in the car with us!"

Kenny smirked. "I've known Damien a lot longer than you, _Pip_. He can cope. It's just that all the holy stuff in one place overwhelms him a bit."

"It's not a bad idea." Christophe stuck a cigarette in his mouth, ignoring the police cars that went screaming past without even seeming to see them. "Go for it."

"Hey!" said Kenny indignantly. "I can't do it alone!"

"Getting a little water from ze font?"

"It'll take ages with just one of us!"

"I'm not going in ze fucking church. I made myself a promise."

Kenny sighed. "Pip?"

The look Pip gave Kenny over Damien's head spoke volumes.

Kenny shook his head in frustration. "Come on Christophe! What are you scared of?"

"Sheet." Christophe climbed out of the car and slammed the door bad-temperedly. "Zat is ze last time I believe a promise I make myself."

Kenny leapt out of the back, glancing back at the bottle bank they had trashed and grabbing a couple of discarded bottles. "Oh stop bitching. Grab some bottles and start hoping your unholy ass doesn't fuck up the blessing."

"I am too old for zis sheet."

**~:~**

Father Kaufman was standing at the alter making preparations for his upcoming ceremony when the church doors swung open. He was mildly surprised and a little worried – he was due to perform a wedding and it was too early for guests. He hoped that this wasn't someone come to tell him the couple had got cold feet and the whole thing had been called off.

The two men who entered the church were unlikely to be preparing for any wedding though.

The first was probably a teenage boy, although it was more the style of clothing that gave it away; he rarely saw anyone so bundled up even in the Colorado snow. The kid wore jeans that didn't fit, his parka fastened tightly and the hood pulled over his face so that only the eyes were revealed. The second initially seemed older and it was him that Father Kaufman was drawn to. For one thing, he seemed to be wearing a shovel over his shoulder. For another, he was smoking. And for a third, he was cursing up a blue streak.

"...Cannot _believe _I am in 'ere, I don't need zis sheet, zis 'ad better not be a waste of fucking time..."

Father Kaufman blinked as he was ignored by the pair. They headed straight for the fonts containing the holy water, where the devout blessed themselves. For the first time he noticed they carried plastic bottles and raised his eyebrows as they began filling them.

"...Kill you so 'ard zat you never come back to life again and zen I shall..."

"Excuse me?" Father Kaufman had an authoritative speaking voice from giving so many sermons on so many Sundays and the pair paused in their discussions to look up at him.

"Is there some way I can help you?"

"I don't think so Father," replied the boy in the parka cheerfully. "Hey, do you mind if we take some of the holy water?"

"Not at all," replied Father Kaufman dryly, since they had already taken plenty and the question had come a little late. "What do you need it for?"

"We are chasing a demon." The other man looked him straight in the eye and for the first time, Father Kaufman realised that he too couldn't be much more than eighteen, although he carried himself with a world-weary confidence that made him seem older.

"I see." Actually, Father Kaufman didn't see, but it wasn't like the holy water was there for show and the boys had every right to take as much as they wanted, or thought they needed. "Well, I'll pray for you."

"Huh!" The accented man sneered around his cigarette, capping the bottle he had been filling. "Like your God would 'elp us. We don't ask for 'is pity and..."

The other boy punched him in the arm. "Fuck Chris, not now alright?" He glanced apologetically at Father Kaufman, genuflecting hastily. "Sorry Father."

Father Kaufman inclined his head. "Don't forget to confess it."

"I won't." The boy grabbed his companions arm and hauled him backward. "We're done, let's get outta here."

"_Oui_, and zis time, I mean it. I will never fucking enter ze door of a church again. I'm asking for double ze pay for zis..."

"Mole, _shit_!"

The two boys left the church, Father Kaufman as confused about their intentions as when they had arrived. Just as he thought they were gone, the door opened again, just enough for the parka-clad boy to put his head through the gap.

"I'd be grateful if you did pray for us," he said quietly and left again.

**~:~**

Kenny was proven right. Once they got away from the church, Damien pulled out of his fugue and glared at the others with a look that clearly said, _we are NEVER mentioning this again_. Christophe rolled his eyes and dismissed it, while Kenny smirked and considered the best ways he could use the situation the next time he went to Hell.

Both of them noticed that Damien didn't retake his place in the front seat; instead he stayed in the back with one arm curled loosely around Pip's waist.

"Where am I going zis time?" asked Christophe wearily.

"It's slowed down," said Damien, no trace of his former shakiness showing. "I think it ditched the cop car and jumped into some one else. It's gone out of town though, thataway."

Nodding, Christophe headed in that direction.

Kenny leaned back in his seat. "Hey, anyone brought any aspirin?"

"Do you really want to overdose?" asked Christophe sarcastically.

"I'll take my chances."

"Huh." Christophe reached into his pocket, one hand still on the wheel and brought out a box of painkillers, tossing them over his shoulder into the back seat

"Thanks." Kenny grabbed the box, glancing up at Christophe with eyes that were both wary and hopeful. Christophe was pretty sure he understood the reaction; heavy drinkers tended to suffer from blackouts and no doubt Kenny had some gaps from the previous night and that morning. However, what he did recall would include hazy memories of Christophe looking after him. He was probably afraid of what he had said, or how badly he had embarrassed himself. He need not have worried, Christophe had no desire to discuss the conversation with anyone, including Kenny.

"I'm almost sure it's on foot," said Damien cheerfully. "That should make things easier."

"But if it's going zis way, zen it is 'eading for ze mountains," Christophe pointed out. "You do realise zat we might 'ave to ditch ze car?"

Damien snorted. "This car is the shit, even when it's full of bullet holes and some fucktard drove into the back. It's not very likely that we'll have to leave it. The road surface isn't going to be a problem and if there's rocks or something – well, I can widen the path myself."

"And there's no people for it to possess on a mountain," added Kenny.

"It's getting desperate," said Damien with an evil grin. "It knows we're on its tail and it can't just jump from one person to another forever, that only gives it a little breathing space when we're this close. It needs to lose us for a while and that's why it's up there."

"I don't care _why_ it's up zere," muttered Christophe, checking out the sky, which was growing even darker under the weight of the clouds. "As long as we can kill it and get zis over with. It keeps getting away and it's really pissing me off."

Damien drew his brows together in a frown. Christophe was right about the near misses. Perhaps if he engineered a few more, then his stay in the mortal realm would have to be extended, as would his time with the foursome – giving him more chance to spend time as a _twosome_.

Pip turned his head and saw the frown, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Damien's frown vanished immediately, reappearing when Pip looked away. No, he couldn't keep dragging Pip around while pretending to fight Asmodeus It wasn't fair on him. Anyway, his dad would be pissed and the damned would make him a laughing stock when they found out.

And there would still be time. Once the demon was disposed of, he still had to stick around to make sure Pip found a new identity. They'd have to change the way he looked of course and Damien inwardly sighed as he thought of cutting off Pip's hair. It was his most identifying feature and would have to go, but that didn't mean Damien had to like the thought.

Although, the accent was pretty telling too. Damien briefly toyed with the idea of getting him out of the country and back to Britain, then dismissed it. Pip's voice had become Americanised enough so that it would stand out even more in his home country and he had a better chance of blending in among a larger population.

There was no reason why Damien couldn't track him down on the occasions he returned, he reminded himself. Just to see how he was doing and make sure he hadn't been caught. Not for any other reason. And assuming that Pip remained in the same place; if he didn't then Damien had no way of finding him. Being able to search out those who had been in Hell at any time was easy enough, he could locate Kenny or Christophe any time he chose, but it wasn't _them_ he wanted to be able to find.

Snow started to fall from the sky, coming in soft, wet flurries that made Christophe curse colourfully and turn on the wipers. "Are we getting closer?"

"Yeah." Damien looked through the front window as best he could through the falling snow. Ahead of them, the mountain loomed, the winding road looking treacherously slick. "It's gone up there."

"Typical," growled Christophe.

"Probably thinks we won't be able to follow it," said Damien. "Isn't it in for a surprise?"

"You think there's a drive-thru?" asked Kenny hopefully.

"It's a fucking mountain Kenny," snapped Damien.

"Even deranged mountain men have to eat."

"We're not stopping for food! Shit, didn't you eat enough already?"

"I'm a growing boy."

"The only thing you'll be growing is a beak if you don't stop pissing me off."

Kenny opened his mouth to reply, saw the look Damien gave him and wisely thought better of it.

Christophe had slowed the car to practically a crawl and Damien sighed. It wasn't as if they could realistically go any faster – the cars traction was good but it wouldn't help them if the Mole drove them off the edge – but it was frustrating. Much as he had considered not catching the demon, he had decided that if he _was_ going to get it, he wanted it done right _now_.

But it was on foot and he could sense them catching up.

"It's close," he said after ten minutes of silence, broken only by Christophe's occasional muttered blasphemies as he navigated the tricky road. The mountain was deserted aside from them, the weather far too inclement for even the most dedicated hiker and the road leading around it much safer for drivers. Anyone who saw the car up there at that time would think them insane, stupid, high or some combination of the three.

"It will 'ear the engine," said Christophe.

"Doesn't matter." Damien grinned unpleasantly. "It can't hide. End of the line."

They rounded another corner, the tyres gripping surely to the slick surface when any other vehicle would have gone into a skid at even the low speed they were travelling at. No one needed Damien to tell them they had found what they were looking for.

A flash of colour against the white alerted them to the person darting behind a tree, perhaps hoping to leave the road altogether and climb the steeper inclines, forcing them to do the same. Christophe stopped the car and all four of them climbed out.

"Pip, you stay here," commanded Damien.

"Forget it," replied Pip. "I'll stay back, but I _won't _leave you to face it without me, so don't ask me to."

"I can kill it."

"I know. I'm still not staying behind."

"Dammit!" Damien ran a hand through his hair. "If something goes wrong..."

"...Then I want to be here."

Damien stared at the boy. Pip looked back at him, resolve unwavering. Damien could see the conviction in his face, the trust that Damien would handle the situation. No one had ever trusted Damien to do anything before, except to fuck them up or fuck them over. For some reason, he didn't want to betray that trust, wanted to prove that he was worthy of it.

No one else affected him like that, only Pip. _Always_ Pip. His mind was starting to offer him some darkly dismaying suggestions as to _why_, but Damien shoved those thoughts right out of his head. He was what he was, evil embodied, and he had no room in his life for anything that was good or pure or uplifting.

But it was so hard to fight the voice in his head that spoke whenever he looked at Pip, the one that whispered _mine, I need._

"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Kenny interrupted.

"Huh." Christophe sneered and drew his gun. The others could see his point. Things hadn't exactly gone smoothly so far.

Damien strode toward the tree they had seen the movement behind, Christophe close behind with an obvious wish to settle the score for personal satisfaction – he wasn't used to filling his missions. Kenny kept up with him and glanced over his shoulder to see Pip was being true to his word, following them. Kenny wondered briefly if perhaps there was some need for personal retribution there as well, or if it really was a need to stay by Damien. He hoped it was the former. Pip's life was already in the toilet without adding love to it, particularly love that could never be returned.

A man stepped out to greet them.

He was dressed in a smart business suit and an expensive overcoat that protected him from much of the weather, although in the higher altitude and the storm, he still had to be cold. Snow clung to his impractical shoes and the cuffs of his pants, his stylish haircut was in disarray and there were fresh cuts and dirt on his hands, where probably he had been scrambling for purchase to climb and been unsuccessful. His skin was pale, lips bluish, breath misting up the air before him, but in spite of that his grin was wild and his eyes both dancing and dead.

He was possessed by the demon. And it had nowhere left to run, no other options but to stand and fight.

**~:~:~:~**

_It realises, now, that fleeing this way was a mistake. Perhaps if it had made its escape by leaping from one person to another in rapid succession, it could have eluded its pursuers But it had panicked. It had expected that hiding among the human cattle would mean safety, that the Antichrist would not attack for fear of gaining attention and therefore giving it a chance to get far away. It had been wrong. Damien had found it and one of his allies had shot at it, killed its host and had it been even a second slower in jumping, it would already be in Hell. _

_So believing there was no sanctuary left in a crowd, it had chosen to run, to hide. But there was no shelter in that choice either, less so, because in the crowd it could postpone the inevitable through jumping to another host. But where there are no more humans, there is no more hope. There is only the body it wears between the mortal world and the return to the torments of Hell. _

_It is in a corner. But it will not willingly submit to its fate. Like any animal trapped, it will fight tooth and claw, with all the weapons at its disposal._

"_Hey." Damien comes to a standstill, arms folded, voice calm. "Are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna really enjoy this?"_

_It glances at those who accompany him. The boy Kenny, who was his ticket to this place. Another boy, this one clearly out for its blood. And surprisingly, its first host, standing timidly behind Kenny. It would not have imagined Pip trying to search it out, but it knows from its time using the boy that his guilt at being unable to stop Asmodeus is the most likely reason for his presence, seeing things through until the bitter end._

_If it has the chance, it will take one of the three to be its new host. There is something wrong with the body it possesses now, a difficulty in catching breath, a lack of feeling in the toes and fingers that make it impossible to climb the steep, snow-covered mountain face. He does not care about such things, save on an intellectual level, he does not feel them any more than a driver feels the pain of a faulty engine, but he knows something must be done about the problem or his current transport will be unusable. _

_It fixes on the unknown, dark eyed boy. That is the one it wants next. There is a confidence in his demeanour that the other two lack and judging by the easy way he holds his gun and the shooting skills he has shown during the chase thus far, there is much it can learn from tearing into his mind. But first, it must deal with the situation at hand._

"_Why do you want to take me back?" it asks through the man's mouth. "I've been here barely any time at all and already caused death and destruction. I can do so much more."_

"_Satan's orders."  
_

"_And what do you care about his rules? Are you the Prince of Hell or are you just another of his minions?"  
_

_It thought that the taunt would anger Damien – he was not known for his tolerance and it had hoped that mocking him would create an argument, buy it some time even if it didn't sway Damien around to its way of thinking. But Damien merely shrugs, ignoring the insult. "Not coming quietly then? That's cool."  
_

_A wall of flame burst from the ground behind it. There is nothing for the fire to feed upon and the falling snow should have dampened the blaze, but this fire is not bound by the laws of the mortal world. It blocks any retreat it might have attempted, although it would not have been able to get far in its current host and it would not have dared take its sight from its pursuers_

_The dark-haired man raises his weapon but Damien gives an imperious gesture with one hand and stops him. Asmodeus doubts that he is usually the type to take orders given in such a fashion, but Damien is used to being obeyed and when he is acting as his birthright demands, he is almost impossible to disregard._

_The mortals remain too far back for it to reach for them, the brunette sheathing his gun, the blondes watching with nervous trepidation. Unless it can make some move, they are of no use to it. But it cannot retreat or the host will perish in the fire, impassable wall at one side, sheer drop at the other. It is bound by the limitations of its host and cannot escape; the hosts death will cause its return to the afterlife. _

_It is trapped and its journey into Hell immanent._

_Damien approaches, eyes glowing red, reaching out and taking either side of the hosts head in his hands. Through the hosts vision, it can see his mouth curl into a smirk as he twists the hosts head sharply, the cracking sound seeming horribly final. The brain and heart lose contact, the host soul wrapping around its discorporeal form and dragging at it, willing it to be propelled along as it departs the body._

_It can still see Damien through the hosts fading sight, the confidence in his victory, the satisfaction in his face, the dancing fire in his eyes._

_As the last spark of life leaves the host, it acts without thought, leaping desperately from the host toward the only other body it can reach._

_Had it had the time to think, it would not have done so. It would not have believed itself capable of entering the Antichrist – a demon able to possess another demon was unheard of, unthinkable. But it is acting on pure instinct, the struggle for survival. It is simply the last chance of fighting its fate._

_Damien is a demon, the child of the leader of Hell. But he is also the child of a mortal. Asmodeus fights, clings with all that it is to the one hope it has left._

_And suddenly, it is sharing head space with the Antichrist._

_It feels a screaming, exhilarated terror, imagines this is how it must feel to be a timid student driver suddenly finding themselves behind the wheel of a race car already doing a hundred miles an hour and accelerating. This is not like any other host._

_Damien's mind is a roaring confusion that it does not comprehend, a place alien to every other mind it has experienced. It is difficult for it to remain, for the first time knowing it is in danger of being rejected, cast out. No other host has ever had that power over it before._

_But if it can somehow gain control – then it is without the tiresome constraints of the human body. It has limitless power, there will be no match to its abilities in this world. If it can break Damien's barricades and open his mind, then the secrets of Hell are open to it. _

_It fights._

_If it can conquer this host, then it will be the ultimate ride._

**~:~:~:~**

The corpse collapsed to the ground the moment Damien released his grip on it. At the same time, Damien staggered backward, raising his hands to cover his face. A low growl started in his throat, the sound making the watchers hair stand on end. There was no trace of humanity in the noise, more the warning snarl of a rabid dog in the second before it attacked.

"Sheet, no," breathed Christophe, taking a step backwards.

"Asmodeus jumped," said Kenny, unable to hide his dismay. "It jumped to _Damien_."

"But 'e is the son of Satan!" said Christophe, alarmed. "What does zat mean?"

The growl rose in volume, Damien hooking his hands into his hair and yanking, eerily reminiscent of Tweek Tweak. Kenny grimaced, having to raise his voice over the noise. "I think it means we're _fucked_."


	12. Tear Me Open, Make You Gone

**Author Note: **OMG, I can't believe it – the last chapter got the most reviews for any single chapter of any SP story I've ever posted! Huge thanks to mah awesome reviewers: Mizuni-no-neko, Bexi, hikaru h, Akatsuki Feathers, Mrs. Pirrup, Hayze-Chan, KittyBePraised, Bethany C. MacKenzie, and Kaz Hiroku! I love you guys so much!

I'm so happy that everyone liked the last chapter so much, in spite of the cliffhanger – but I got a feeling that this chapter won't go down quite as well. So, please remember the warnings that were given at the start of the story and an added one; don't eat while you read. Ickiness ahead.

The next chapter will be the last one. I've already written it – several times. I keep changing my mind about what happens. I'm afraid of commitment, lol. Please review!

**~:~**

_Tear me open, make you gone, no more will you hurt anyone. But the fear still shakes me, so hold me..._

**~:~**

Damien knew enough to keep his eyes closed. He had Asmodeus trapped, although it was in himself, and he wasn't about to let it go. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have any experience in being possessed and although he was managing to fight off Asmodeus for the moment, the demon was struggling for control.

It couldn't be allowed to gain control, even for a moment.

Asmodeus could do plenty of harm, even in the constraints of the human form. If he had the powers of the Antichrist, there would be no stopping it. If it were able to gain control, it would know all the things Damien knew, including plenty about Hell. It would have the knowledge to challenge Satan for dominance, or more likely, to use the information in support of a stronger demon who might pose a real threat. A war in Hell would cause real trouble not only in that realm, but also on Earth as each side looked to strengthen its numbers.

But before all that, it would turn on Damien's mortal accomplices. Kenny and Christophe would die immediately. But if Asmodeus knew everything about Damien, then it would know about his conflicting emotions about Pip and _that_ would promise the boy a long, drawn-out, painful death, one brought about by Damien's hands, if not by his intent.

So Damien fought.

He was stronger than it was, it was just a lesser demon and he was the Antichrist – but Asmodeus was desperate and had absolutely nothing to lose. It was fighting for its freedom, its very survival, and there was no struggle more critical than that.

And there was the not-so-small matter of what he was going to _do _with the demon once it was under control.

**~:~:~:~**

"_Damien." _

_Its voice is mocking, cold, hiding well its fear. It jumped with no thought of the consequences, knowing only that its host was dying and it had to leave before being entangled with the soul. But now it is engaged in battle with a far stronger being, a battle it is afraid it will lose. _

_It does not want to go back to Hell. It has to use the only weapons it has – its experience compared to Damien's lack thereof, its persuasiveness, its limited knowledge of how the Antichrist thinks, what he wants. _

"_Damien. Think of the havoc I can unleash on the mortal world. The chaos, the confusion, the glorious destruction. Do you not want that?"_

"_Forget it demon." Damien sounds distinctly unimpressed. "Satan wants you home again. I'm gonna bring you back."_

_Panicking, it tries to bury into Damien's subconscious, but is prevented. Damien knows its tricks, can fend him off more easily than a mortal can. It barely scrapes the surface of his thoughts – but then, there is one person at the forefront of Damien's mind. And maybe that will be all it needs._

"_Back to Hell. Away from the mortals for both of us. Away from...Pip."_

_Damien's voice is low and dangerous. "Don't go there."_

_It relaxes slightly. This is more familiar territory, using its wiles to urge the host into seeing things its way. "I've been in his mind Damien. Into his memories, his subconscious. I know things about Pip that you never will. Set me free and I can share what I found there with you. Set me free and you'll be able to discover everything about him, know what he wants, what he needs, why he is the way he is. Isn't that what you want?"_

_It senses Damien wavering and allows a thrill of triumph to overcome itself. "Without me, you'll always wonder. You'll never know more than what he chooses to show you – which will be exactly nothing, because you'll be in Hell and he'll be running from this time for the rest of his life. Only I can grant you this."_

_It feels Damien's resolve set and for a moment it believes it has won the Antichrist over._

_But only for a moment. _

"_Without you, Pip wouldn't be running. Without you, Pip wouldn't be hurt. And do you know what I do to those who hurt Pip?"_

_Terror overtakes it and it tries to take Damien's mind by force, only to find no purchase there._

"_...I send them to Hell."_

_It screams, knowing it has no power, no choice. That its only chance now is to jump..._

_And then it realises that something has happened and Damien has been distracted. Now, it is able to see through the eyes of the Antichrist and the view is of dark pupils, irises as calm and blue as the sky._

_It jumps._

**~:~:~:~**

Pip turned and ran for the car the moment he realised Asmodeus had jumped to Damien, his absence barely noticed by Kenny and Christophe. The Mole had nothing that could truly harm Damien, whatever battle tactics he had at his disposal would be all but useless against a being of Damien's power. If Asmodeus overtook Damien, it would tear the world apart, starting with the three of them. And if the demon was able to do to Damien what it had done to him – read his mind, his thoughts, his innermost desires – then it would twist those things and use them against him.

It wasn't going to happen, Pip vowed. No one was going to harm Damien in that way, _no one_. What happened to the world was the least of his concerns. As long as there was breath in his body, he was going to do all he could to protect Damien.

The trouble was, he feared he wouldn't be able to do what he had to.

Pulling open the passenger side door, Pip yanked open the glove compartment and found the dagger of Megiddo right away. He grabbed it, examining it. It was ornate and old, older than Damien himself, forged when his birth had been prophesied. The damn thing had been playing on his mind ever since the conversation in the car the previous day.

"_What the hell else is in there, or shouldn't I ask?"_

"_Probably not. Just the usual stuff anyway – mints, sunglasses, dagger of Megiddo, maps, underpants and change."_

"_Underpants?"_

"_It's just a precaution."_

"_And the dagger?"  
_

"_All seven together could kill me, so I keep them scattered where humans can't find them."_

"_Can I..."_

"_No." _

The only things that with which a mortal could kill the Antichrist, should such a precaution be needed, according to Damien. But he had mentioned seven, this was only one.

The bottles of holy water still remained in the car, also stashed in the glove compartment, and Pip took one, willing his hands to stop shaking. He poured the entire contents over the dagger, the water gushing out to soak the blade and most of his left arm, dribbling to coat his right hand. He paused to wipe his palms on his jeans and adjusted his grip, racing over to where Damien was stood, head bowed, obscured by his arms. There was some terrible inner battle going on with the Antichrist; the air crackled with static and the sudden change in air pressure was sending dull pains through the heads of the observers.

_Please God,_ prayed Pip silently. _I know I don't deserve help, I know you don't have a reason to help _him_, but please, PLEASE let me do this right, please let this work, please don't let me mess this one up, please..._

Kenny realised Pip's intention and started running toward him, yelling in spite of the pain spiking in his head. "Pip, _no_!"

Too late. Pip gripped the dagger and with a sweeping upward motion, drove it deep into Damien's ribcage.

The atmospheric pressure suddenly became unbearable. Kenny collapsed to the floor, raising his hands to cover his face, blood erupting from his nose and soaking into his parka. Christophe staggered backward and fell to his knees, covering his ears, eyes closed for fear they would just burst out of his head. But Pip gritted his teeth and ignored it, never releasing his hold on the dagger.

Damien's arm fell and showed his face, his typical pallor becoming impossibly more pronounced, shock carved into his features. He swayed, his red eyes meeting Pip's with dazed incomprehension.

"Pip...?"

"Damien." Pip's voice was sad but sure. "I'm sorry."

There was a spark of something in Damien's eyes, a malignant force that seemed to leap from the red orbs and was gone.

And then those eyes clouded over and Damien collapsed at Pip's feet.

_I killed him,_thought Pip numbly. _I killed him and I loved him and this HAS to work, it HAS to, please God, this can't be for nothing, oh please LET THIS WORK – _

Behind his eyes, he felt the familiar, unwelcome presence of Asmodeus and clenched his fists, tears starting in his eyes, awaiting the possession...

...And then his hands, drenched in holy water, burst into flame.

For a second, Pip had the image of Damien, the way he could control the fire without it injuring him, the way he stood confident and intimidating with his palms ablaze. But then the pain started, searing agony as the fire ate into his flesh.

Pip screamed and in his head, Asmodeus screamed along with him, beating around in his subconscious like a panicked bird. The pain and the divinity of the cause was holding it off for the moment, but that would change as soon as it recovered from the shock and took control.

Dimly, Pip could hear a voice screaming his name – Kenny probably, it sounded like Kenny – but he didn't look. If he looked, he would lose his nerve. Instead, he glanced down at the silent, cold form of Damien, the dagger protruding from his chest.

And he smiled.

_Please God please, oh it HURTS, please oh Damien I'm sorry, God, let me have ONE MORE SECOND – _

Before his sense of self-preservation could kick in, Pip opened his eyes wide, tears of pain and sadness flowing freely, and hooked his burning fingers into them.

The flames that danced up his arms burned at his face, melting his flesh. His hair caught fire, highlighting the tableau in a hellish halo, until there was nothing left but his blistering, bald scalp.

And that pain, that agony, was _nothing_ compared to what was happening to his _eyes_.

The fire seared his eyeballs, turning the blue orbs milky white before they simply burned, melting into gelatinous puddles within empty sockets, leaving Pip blind.

And leaving Asmodeus with nowhere to go.

In spite of the pain, Pip could feel the demon seize control as soon as it realised what his actions meant, taking over his body and taking several jerky steps, unable to see where it was going. And then it abandoned Pip to deal with the agony alone, taking refuge within his subconscious, knowing it was all over.

Pip fell to his knees, screaming uncontrollably through lips that were blistered and burnt, but in the extremities of his anguish he wondered if the pain had driven him out of his mind, because to his own ears, his screams sounded like insane laughter.

**~:~**

Christophe heard Kenny yelling for Pip and opened his eyes to a vision of Hell.

The boy was burning, although Christophe could see no source of the flames. The fire was illuminating every injury in flickering clarity. And he was screaming; broadcasting his agony.

Struggling to his feet, Christophe reached for the gun in his belt. If he was right, then not only was Pip possessed, but he was in horrific pain. There was only one thing the mercenary could do, display some mercy.

His fingers brushed the gun and he wrapped his fingers around it, not taking his eyes from the sight in front of him.

Pip plunged his hands into his eyes.

Nauseated, fighting back bile, Christophe froze. The blondes screams redoubled, the flames setting alight his hair, scorching his face. For a moment, he tried to walk, then sank to his knees beside Damien's unmoving body.

Aiming his weapon, the Mole pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Pip between the empty holes that had once housed his eyes. The force knocked his body backward, toppling into the snow, which seemed to affect the flames and douse them almost totally. The Mole tightened his lips and started forward to confirm the kill, running on autopilot, letting the mercenary take over and not considering the implications of what he had just done.

"_No!"_

Kenny scrambled to his feet, racing toward Pip's still-smouldering body. With a curse, Christophe hurried after him, thinking he ought to stop Kenny before he saw the worst of what had happened – although it was probably pointless, Kenny had seen much worse during his life and his many deaths.

Kneeling beside Pip's body, Kenny gathered the snow and used it to extinguish the last of the flames, which went out with an ease belied by their previous ferocity. He reached a hand out to touch Pip's lifeless body, some idea that he ought to do something flitting in his mind, then he pulled it back, helpless in the face of such total devastation. Pip's previously unmarked face was a charred mess, eyes empty, hair burned away. His arms were in equally bad condition, the trails where the fire had taken hold obvious. The boy was unrecognisable.

Sprawled in the snow beside the human ruin that had been Pip Pirrup, Damien looked truly peaceful for the first time in all Kenny's long association with him. His red eyes were closed, his face relaxed, no sign of his usual sulky frown or arrogant smirk. The dagger protruded from his chest, a surprisingly small amount of blood trickling from the wound. He might have finally been asleep, but Kenny knew better.

Kenny bowed his head, wishing he could think of something to say or do, but his mind was blank, his ears still ringing with Pip's final screams and the gunshot that had ended it all. Then a hand fell onto his shoulder and he looked up through a prism caused by his tears to see Christophe. The Mole knelt beside him, looking solemn, then reached out to take Damien's pulse. Satisfied there was no sign of a heartbeat, he turned his attention to Pip, giving him the same treatment. Kenny almost laughed. He couldn't think the boy could have survived all _that_, surely.

When the Mole took his fingers away from the pulse point on Pip's neck, a blackened section of skin slid off the corpse and Kenny had to fight back the urge to throw up. He pressed his lips together, tasting the blood that had burst from his nose, sickened by the coppery, thick taste. After the activity that had gone on before, the mountain seemed surprisingly silent.

"_Notre Pere, qui etes aux cieux_," began Christophe and it took Kenny a moment to realise that the words were the beginning of a prayer. "_Priez pour nous, pauv pecheurs maint'ant et a l'heure de notre mort. Ainsi soit-il_."

"Amen," said Kenny quietly.

They knelt there for several seconds more in silence, unmindful of the snow, then Christophe stood, extending a hand to pull Kenny up too. "We must leave. We may 'ave attracted attention."

Kenny hesitated, pulling down his hood to wipe tears and blood from his face with the back of his hand. "What about them?"

"We bury zem," replied Christophe. "But not 'ere. Can you 'elp me put zem in the car?"

Nodding, Kenny steeled himself to deal with the unpleasant remains of Pip, but Christophe apparently read his thoughts and after backing the car closer to the bodies, dealt with the burned corspe himself, letting Kenny struggle with Damien's deceptively heavy form. Putting them in the trunk of the car didn't feel right, but having them in the main body of the car was an even less appealing thought. And there was less chance of anyone noticing a problem if they were out of sight.

Once that was over with, Kenny looked back at the third corpse, the man they had chased here while he was possessed by the demon. "What about that guy?"

Walking over to the body, Christophe spent a few moments looking at it. "We leave it 'ere. Damien broke 'is neck, it will look like an accident. And zis way, 'e will be found."

"Found too late."

"It's ze best we can do. Let's get out of 'ere. I doubt we 'ave demonic immunity anymore."

Christophe drove, Kenny dealing with the worst of his nosebleed by using one of the remaining bottles of holy water, wondering if it was sacrilegious to do so and then deciding he didn't really care. There was blood soaked into the hood of his parka and he kept it down, watching the landmarks pass by as Christophe drove without speaking. It was quite possibly the longest day of his life and it was far from over.

The mountains surrounding South Park boasted many wooded areas and without asking, Christophe chose to head to one of these. The car made the treacherous roads easily, headlights displaying no more life than a few birds. By the time the Mole stopped the car, they were almost back in South Park but far from sight of the town. The perfect spot for a little digging.

Christophe dug the grave rapidly, Kenny leaning against the car and watching, offers to help refused. There were no other words passed between them until the hole was ready.

"Do I need to dig another?" asked Christophe.

Kenny shook his head. "Better this way."

They buried the bodies, Damien and Pip laying in the same spot. Christophe didn't suggest any way to mark the grave and Kenny decided that might be for the best; allowing their remains to be undisturbed.

This time, there were no prayers.

Kenny imagined the future, six months from now, a year, five, ten. The softly falling snow would cover the freshly dug area, melting as the weather warmed, the grass covering it until there was no sign that it had ever been disturbed. The media would publish Pip's picture in the news for a few days then forget all about him, save for the occasional squib about wanted criminals. No one in South Park would even know he was dead, save for Kenny and Christophe. None of them would realise what had happened to him, assuming he had escaped justice and gone into hiding.

What would happen to Damien, Kenny didn't know. The rules were different for Damien, just as they were different for him.

Christophe took out his cigarettes, lit two and handed one of them to Kenny. The packet was getting severely depleted. Kenny took the cancer stick gratefully and inhaled as if he would never pause for breath.

"I wish it could have been different," said Kenny eventually. "I told Damien he was going to screw Pip up, but in the end – I don't know. Damien seemed really confused about his own behaviour and Pip was really _serene _about it. I can't believe he did that. I just _can't_."

"Killed himself for ze good of others?" Christophe exhaled a cloud of smoke, made more substantial by his breath fogging the air. "I would 'ave thought you were no stranger to such behaviour."

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because I come back! It doesn't _matter_ if I die, or _when_, or _how_. But Pip's gone for _good_."

Christophe thought about this for a moment. "_Oui_, 'e is gone. But 'ow do you know ze next time you die, you won't be gone too?"

Kenny glanced at him and Christophe shrugged. "God is a beetch, 'e treats us like dicks and jerks us around for 'is amusement. Zat is ze only thing we can count on in life. You might think you can always come back, zen find out one day that you 'ave used up all your chances. God likes to fuck around like zat."

"I dunno. I can't imagine _not_ coming back."

"Most people can't imagine dying at all. It is ze same thing. And maybe you 'ave ze advantage over ze rest of ze world because you know what 'appens after death. Or maybe zey 'ave the advantage over you, because you 'ave forgotten 'ow to appreciate _'aving_ a life. It might be better for Pip that 'e does not come back. Zere is not much for 'im 'ere. Maybe it is better where 'e is now."

"I wish he hadn't died like that," said Kenny shakily. "Burning to death hurts like a _bitch_."

"Sometimes, ze best we can 'ope for is a few moments of 'appiness and someone who 'as a good aim when ze time comes. At least 'e got zat." Christophe flicked the cigarette away. "Get in, I will take you 'ome."

Kenny dropped the cigarette and got into the car, wondering if he would even be able to remember where this place was once they were gone and if he would return if he did. "When did you become a philosopher anyway?"

Christophe started the engine. "I live a dangerous life. It is better to be at peace with zese things. Pass me ze 'oly water."

Kenny stared. "You're going to drink the holy water."

"Zere is nothing else and I just dug a big fucking 'ole. I'm thirsty."

Kenny opened the glove compartment and frowned as he noticed the envelope beneath the bottles. "This wasn't here before."

Glancing over and seeing the envelope, Christophe hit the brakes. "Don't open zat. It could be dangerous."

"If demonic forces wanted rid of us, I don't think they'd bother with a letter bomb." Kenny tore the envelope open and his eyes widened. "Holy shit!"

"What?"

Kenny pulled out a handful of crisp twenty-dollar bills. "Looks like you're getting paid after all."

The thought of the money he had been promised hadn't even occurred to the Mole until then. "Damn. Zis must mean zat Damien is still around, somewhere."

"A wire transfer from Hell. Most people would have sent a card."

Christophe accepted the envelope as Kenny handed it to him and looked at the contents, considering. "Uh, 'alf of zis is yours."

Kenny shook his head emphatically. "I never got paid for the shit I did for Heaven and Hell before. I wouldn't feel right about taking it. I'd probably just spend it all on my 'bad habits' anyway."

With a shrug, Christophe dropped the envelope on the dash and drove off toward South Park.

**~:~**

"We're 'ere," said Christophe as they pulled up outside Kenny's house. Kenny, lost in thought, hadn't even seemed to notice.

"Yeah. Thanks for the ride." Kenny opened the car door and paused. "Oh, Damien said the car tends to fade out after a few hours, so don't freak if it's not there in the morning."

"You could 'ave told me zis before."

"Sorry," said Kenny, but the look in his eyes suggested that he was more amused than sorry. "See you around then. Thanks for everything."

"Your parents won't be pissed zat you 'ave been missing for two days?"

"Nah. They'll just think I was dead or something." Kenny stepped out of the car and trudged toward the house, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Christophe watched him go, wondering what it was like to be on the fringes of existence like that. There but not-there, famous and anonymous. He tried to hide it, but Kenny wore his solitude and confusion like an aura.

Dammit.

Christophe wound down the window. "Hey, Kenny?"

Kenny stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.

Waving the envelope of money, Christophe grinned. "You want to take another day off dead, 'ire some movies and smoke all my cigarettes _again_?"

After considering the offer for about half a second, Kenny jogged back over to the car and jumped in. "Real movies though, no subtitles."

"Huh, if we must. But zere must be explosions, none of zis pussy emo shit."

"You drive a hard bargain. Anything else?"

"_Oui_. Take off zat fucking 'ood. It's been annoying me for days."

Kenny rolled his eyes but complied with the request as the car rolled away. Briefly, his mind wandered back to the money, the sign that Damien's spirit was still around, even though his body on Earth had been killed.

He wondered what had become of Pip's soul.

He knew better than most that death was not the end, but it was the first time he had faced the uncertainty of not knowing the ultimate fate of another person. Maybe he would find out from Damien, the next time he died.

Hopefully, that wouldn't be for a while.


	13. Where You Belong

**Authors Note: **My huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed any of the chapters or put this story on their alerts and favourites. Those things really keep an author working hard! Special thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: KittyBePraised, Akatsuki Feathers, Mizuni-no-neko, Bethany C. MacKenzie, Determined (thanks for picking up on that mistake in my French! I've been back and corrected it), hikaru h and Hayze-Chan! I do send out review replies for the last chapter.

And so, the final chapter. I'm kinda sad to have finished this story, it was a total blast to work on. But y'know, I learned something in the process. That Dip rocks, that writing Christophe is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on (even if he has a mind of his bloody own and refuses to co-operate with what I intended him to do) and that I prefer Kenny without the angst. I was having a kinda Wayne's World experience with the last chapter – let's do this ending! No, let's do _this _ending! But this is the ending I've decided on. No going back now!

Onto something new – what that might be, I've no idea, since my muse appears to have buggered off with the last of the tequila and left me bereft of ideas! Seriously, I've got _nothing. _Whatever I might end up working on, I hope you'll keep an eye out for it. Hope you enjoy the ending and please review!

**~:~**

_I know you've sinned every sin, but I'll still take you in._

**~:~**

Damien's occasional excursions from Hell usually saw his return through through the same portals used by his father; a shooting pillar of fire for dramatic effect, the immediate transferral from his current position back into the pit. It was relatively dignified, it appealed to his sense of self and it was completely painless.

Not so after dying in the mortal world.

The first thing Damien was aware of was a sense of velocity, moving at great speed although he couldn't quite work out how he was being propelled. There was darkness all around him, total blackness that he couldn't see through and the sense of a distance, that he could reach out his hand and not touch a thing.

And suddenly, there was a light from beneath him. Blinking, he realised it was the hellfire he was so used to, only it was very, very far away. Although it was getting closer quickly.

Because he was falling.

"_Fu-"_

The rest of the word was lost as he crashed face-first into the rock that made the surface of hell. When he was younger, he would laugh at the sight of the damned smashing down, not always escaping the process with all their limbs. He finally understood why it wasn't actually very funny.

Groaning, he got to his feet, his injuries healing rapidly as his body realised where it was and the lack of limitations upon it. He examined himself curiously, not exactly surprised to have form but wondering at the physics of the realm that had made it possible, if he would still be able to return to the mortal world or if that body was the only one he would ever have up there. The first Dagger of Megiddo was the one to kill his mortal form, it took all of them to wipe him from existence entirely and of course, there had only been one in the car.

And _that_ led him back to thinking of how he had died so ignobly in the first place.

"Damien!"

Satan strode over to him, occasionally stepping on the figures of the damned still lying around. Damien rolled his eyes, not in the mood to explain himself.

"Did you take back the demon?"

"It jumped," snapped Damien. "You have to send me back _right now_..."

There was a sound, a yammering, screaming noise that Damien immediately recognised; one of the lesser demons in an extremity of torment. But this was not the place where those creatures were held, this was where the recently deceased fell. So why?

His answer came as the demon that had fancied itself as Asmodeus burst through the sky, screaming its horror and despair at being back in Hell again, this time with no chance of escape. Damien glared at it as it cowered and grovelled on the floor in front of Satan.

"Well, it's back," said Satan. "I suppose that's the important thing. Although I don't understand why it came back _after_ you."

"Neither do I." Damien snarled at the demon, his eyes burning, noting the way it showed subservient fear – and something else. It was gloating.

"You jumped," said Damien. "What happened?"

"Master –"

"_TELL ME."_

Damien's voice was cold, commanding and held only evil intent; there was no question of disobeying. The demon scrabbled at the floor. "The boy, Pip, contained me. He was soaked in sacramental water. He pulled out his own eyes."

"Dead?" Damien's voice was barely a whisper and Satan looked at him sharply. "Pip – he's _dead_?"

"His soul took me with it," replied the demon, a hint of glee entering its voice. "It was most painful, for both of us."

Frozen to the spot, Damien remembered the times he had looked into Pip's eyes, the clear blue of the irises, the way they broadcast his emotions. The sorrow in them when he had stabbed Damien. The memory was replaced by an image of Pip, skin burning and melting, holding his eyes in the palm of his hands as if in supplication.

Grief and fury and murderous rage overtook him. Damien took a step toward the demon, his eyes sparking fire, flames bursting from his right hand as he pulled back his arm to strike the demon – and then stopped, the fire dwindling. "But he's not _here_."

He looked around wildly as if to confirm his words, while Satan frowned in confusion. "Pip? Not your little friend from third grade surely."

"Dad," said Damien urgently, turning to leave. "I need you to keep hold of the demon for me. We're going to have some _quality time_ later on. But I've gotta do something more important first."

"Damien!" Satan looked completely bewildered as his son strode away. "Where are you _going_?"

"I haven't got much time before he's past the gate!"

"Damien, you're _not_."

"Sorry dad, but I have to get to Heaven!"

**~:~**

Pip blinked.

The ground was white, which was pretty usual. What wasn't usual was that this didn't seem to be snow and although he was kneeling in it, it wasn't cold. He was shirtless, allowing him to see his unmarked torso, but that wasn't right either because something – something had happened...

And then he remembered he shouldn't be seeing anything at all.

Looking up, Pip was struck by a sense of vastness. A set of gates were closed ahead of him, golden and so huge that he felt dwarfed by them. Beyond them, he could hear music and laughter, the sound calming him, bringing a peace he had never previously known. The skies stretching off into the distance were cloudless and blue, he could see no sign of an end before the horizon. In this massive, unfamiliar place, after everything that had happened, he should have been terrified – yet he wasn't. He felt very strongly that nothing here could harm him.

And yet as peaceful as he felt, as serene as his surroundings were, he was aware that all was not as it should be.

Someone was stood behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a young woman, easily as tall as he was and as naked as the day she was born – although he somehow doubted she had been _born_ in the usual way.

"I'm in Heaven?"

"Most people sound happier about it," she told him, making a complicated motion on his back, tickling him so that he squirmed from the touch. A moment later, there was a painless but alien feeling beneath his skin and he twisted around, staring at his back in alarm as a set of wings burst from his shoulder blades.

"Gosh."

He gave an experimental twitch of his shoulder blades, a grin breaking out on his face as the wings moved. A few attempts saw him able to coax the wings into flapping gently, although he wasn't about to try flying with them until he saw an instruction manual or possibly some kind of training video.

The young woman left his field of vision but as soon as he turned to keep watching her, he realised she had vanished from sight, although there was nowhere she could have realistically gone in the moment she had been unwatched. Deciding it wasn't important, Pip went back to testing out his wings, although the initial delight was wearing off. The memories of his life and the manner of his death were creeping into his mind again, leaving him with unanswered questions and a deep-seated sense of anxiety.

"Welcome to Heaven."

Pip looked over at the gates, realising that they had opened a fraction, allowing a man to emerge. Man in appearance at least. Long chestnut hair flowed over his shoulders and he was dressed in armour that seemed to come from some far gone era, the Greeks perhaps, or the Romans. He too had wings, folded neatly behind his back and a halo caught the light, completing the vision. He was easily the most handsome man Pip had ever laid eyes on, making the Brit feel more than a little uncomfortable, like he had gone to a formal event in fancy dress.

"Um, hello," said Pip nervously.

"We're very glad to have you here," said the angel in a booming voice that somehow both inspired awe and created a secure feeling in Pip's chest. "I'm Raphael and I'll be your guide for your Heavenly orientation. Should you have any questions at any time, feel free to..."

"Wait," said Pip hurriedly. "I think there's been a mistake."

Raphael looked unamused by the assertion. "This is Heaven. We don't make mistakes."

"Well, I just want to make _absolutely certain_ that you know all about me." Pip gave a nervous smile. "Just recently, I killed four people, had gay sex with the Antichrist and committed suicide."

Raphael blinked.

"It's been a funny sort of week," agreed Pip.

"Although the killings happened by your hand, they were in reality the work of a lesser demon possessing your body," Raphael reminded him. "And what you described as suicide was an act of self-sacrifice for a greater good, ridding the world of a great evil. It actually makes you a martyr."

"It does?" Pip considered this for a moment. "Okay, but what about the other thing?"

"What about it?"

"I'm gay," said Pip, slowly and carefully.

"We fail to see how that affects your afterlife status."

"You don't see how it affects it? I had sex with the Antichrist!"

The voice from behind him sounded wryly amused. "Are you bragging or complaining?"

Pip spun around, shock etched into his features. _"Damien?"_

"Hey." Damien stood among the clouds, looking uncomfortable and nervous, apparently trying not to touch anything. "Wow, wings. That's a good look for you."

"But – how are you _here_?"

"It's as far as I go," replied Damien. "God and Satan have a little understanding. Dad sometimes asks for help with his love life. This is how he gets here, but y'know, I'm not him and I don't want to go any closer. All this holiness sets my teeth on edge."

"But when we were at the church, you uh, were a little upset."

Damien flipped off the smirking Raphael without even looking at him. "I'm not as strong in mortal form as I am in the afterlife. That's how I can come here."

"So why..." Pip trailed off. "What _did _you come here for?"

Damien shrugged, not meeting Pip's eye. "I just wanted to say thanks. And sorry. And goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Pip bit his lip. "But – I thought I'd be going to Hell, I don't know why I'm here!"

"Being gay isn't a sin Pip," said Raphael.

"Not since they relaxed the Mormon Law anyway," added Damien.

"But it was _you_ and – I just assumed I'd be damned by association."

"I don't get it either," said Damien. "But if I were you, I'd just be glad. You can go to Heaven and be happy. I'm – I'm glad you're not going to be damned. You deserve this. I'm sorry about everything I dragged you into and – well, I guess I'll see you during the next war."

Damien took a last, lingering look at Pip, trying to memorise everything about him; the way he stood poised as if ready to move, his bare torso no longer marked by life's casual cruelties, or death, or Damien himself, the fine blonde hair loose around his shoulders, slightly parted lips, blue eyes widened in incomprehension. And the wings, marking out the reason that the two of them could never be together again.

Damien had stormed up to Heaven with every intent of claiming possession of Pip, his mind shouting _I want_, _gimme, mine_. He'd been planning on tearing the angels realm apart if he had to, laying waste to the whole of Heaven just to get the boy back.

But seeing Pip standing at the gates, he had changed his mind.

Not about the wanting – more than anything else, he wanted to tell Raphael to shove it and spirit Pip back to Hell with him. But that wasn't what _Pip_ wanted. Mortals spent a lifetime of sacrifice and self-denial trying to get to Heaven and no one deserved it more than Pip. Damien couldn't deny him that.

It might be what was best for Pip, but the decision was making Damien miserable and he didn't know why he was sticking to it instead of just taking what he wanted. Something about Pip fucked up his way of thinking and damn, he missed selfishness at that moment.

"Yeah," said Damien quietly, unsuccessfully trying to keep the confusion and sadness out of his voice. Knowing that he was never again going to see the blonde made him feel desolate and _that_ was a new and unwelcome emotion for him. "Bye."

He turned his back on Heaven and prepared to leave.

"_WAIT!"_

Damien froze at the sound of Pip's yell, letting the word sink into his brain before turning slowly. Pip had started toward him, but under Damien's gaze he faltered and stopped. The look on his face was very much afraid, but determined. A part of Damien expected him to want a goodbye kiss or something and _that_ was going to make leaving him behind that much harder – but he wasn't about to deny the request either.

"I – I don't want to go to Heaven."

Of all the things Damien had been expecting, these words weren't among them. _"What?"_

Pip's voice trembled, but his look remained defiant. "I don't want to _go. _I want to be where ever _you_ are. I don't need a _place_ to make me happy, or an eternity with clouds and harps and bloody _angels_. I need _you_."

Damien's eyes widened and he had to force himself to remain calm. He wasn't entirely convinced that Pip knew just what he was asking.

"Look Pip – I – I'm not worth throwing away your chance of Heaven for! I can't promise you _anything_. I can't tell you things will work out if you _do_ come with me. I was born to be _evil_ and you – weren't. You were made for _this_." Damien indicated to the Heavens with a slight sneer.

"I'm not asking you to promise anything," said Pip quietly. "I'm not asking you to _change_. I _know_ what you say you are and how you are with other people. And I know how you are with _me_."

Raphael sighed. "Philip, he is his Fathers child. All he does, he does for his own benefit. He is lies and deceit made flesh. You cannot trust your emotions around him, because his purpose is manipulating them."

"Who invited you to stick your oar in?" snapped Pip.

Damien gave a laugh and quickly stifled it, trying to remember the reasons he was arguing against what he wanted. But somewhere within himself, he dared to hope. "Pip, this isn't something you can go back on if you decide it's a mistake – I mean, we only had a couple of days..."

"And it isn't _enough_," continued Pip, gathering his courage and closing the distance between them. "I want to be with you Damien. If you'll have me of course. I mean, I did kill you earlier."

"No one's perfect," replied Damien, trying to keep the grin off his face and look serious. "I rip out peoples intestines when I get bored."

"I once threw a kitten into a patch of nettles."

"That's it. You're definitely evil. You belong in Hell."

"I belong with _you_."

Damien caught Pip's hands and looked into his eyes. "Are you _sure_ about this? I – I want you with me but I don't want you to make a mistake – _shit_, there's something seriously wrong with my mind since I met you. It's all confusion and chaos."

"Do you want me to back away?"

"Hell no. I like confusion and chaos. Gimme more."

"As much as you want."

"And you're _sure_?"

"I've never been more sure about anything." Pip leaned forward and caught Damien's lips with his own, chuckling deep in his throat as Damien immediately deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms protectively around the boy and pulling him close. Pip put his arms around Damien's neck, burying his hands in his hair.

Damien pulled away for a moment, slightly breathless. "You think they'll let you keep the wings?"

"Why?"

"They're a turn-on."

"Damien!"

"I always wanted to screw an angel."

"I'm quite sure turning down Heaven means I'm not technically an angel."

"Fuck technicalities. You're close enough."

At the gates, Raphael watched the display, forgotten. He turned slightly and looked down as he was joined by another figure.

"Is this a part of your plan?" Raphael's voice was doubtful.

God regarded the pair. "I gave all mortals free will. Pip made his choice."

Raphael sighed. "I don't pretend to understand, but the Antichrist is standing at the gates of Heaven with a hand – wait, now it's _both _hands, on the ass of an angel. It looks bad."

God gave Raphael an amused glance. "Maybe it all depends on the way you view the situation."

Raphael sighed. The Lord truly did work in mysterious ways and just like any underling working for an omnipotent boss, trying to fathom out the logic was giving him a headache. But before he could enquire any further, he was distracted by a pillar of flame as Damien and Pip vanished from Heaven together.

There was a pause, then God spoke. "They ran off with the wings, didn't they?"

"Yes Father."

"...Shit."

**THE END.**


End file.
